RP:Under the Veil of Dust and Sand

Summary: Several months of chasing after a ghost and tracking leads down dead ends, the resilient Leader of the Rogues seeks out solace and refuge among the familiar sand and shadows of a suspended world, deep in the Nameless Desert. Joining Eleanor is Leoxander, trapped for just as many moons in one of his lupine forms by a mystical brand bestowed upon him by the spellrogue herself. Unexpectedly, he is released from his hirsute prison upon arriving at this palace, caught in time as it was. After sharing secrets and sandgrouse, the pair share long-overdue conversation, too.

Abandoned Palace

A steel gate that glows with strange light opens on silent hinges, revealing a large and impressive courtyard. In its centre is a decorative fountain portraying four dolphins and a whale all squirting sparkling fresh water into a circular pool. Dotted around in carefully attended to plots are beautiful trees and well tended bushes that have been cut into all kinds of shapes: people, animals, stars, and sometimes just wondrous patterns that shows clearly whoever lives here appreciates the finer things. Yet, beyond the well-tended gardens, no other signs intelligent life are found. Could this place be abandoned? If so, what magic spells are at work to keep the arid area so full of life, so vibrant with a perfect mixture of nature's most beautiful colours. It is as if time itself has stood still here... waiting perhaps for its owners return. To the south is another door that rests slightly ajar, almost tempting you to journey on further in search of whomever it was who created this magnificent sanctuary in the dry, harsh desert.

Eleanor ; Days, weeks, months. El had stopped counting how long it had been since her last encounter with The Oracle. The two-faced hag had pulled the rug out from under her, and despite all their efforts this year, the spellrogue still felt no closer to finding the innkeeper, much less her beloved tiger. The All-Seeing Syndicate was little more than stories in Cenril these days, but whispers of painted faces and eye-tattoos still cropped up around Lithrydel from time to time. El was intent on chasing down each lead, yet every time she felt like they were closing in on the cursed witch, another crippling disappointment reminded her she may as well be chasing after a ghost. With yet another dead end drawing tiny wrinkles around her eyes, she saddled up and began the journey back to camp. Although once, the assassin was cloaked in the night, today she wore beige pants, boots, and blouse to blend in with the arid slopes. A muslin scarf pulled up over her nose kept the sand out of her face as she urged her horse over the dunes until her destination came into view. She had been coming here now for several months, in-between forays after her foe. As she approached, she had no immediate desire to tend the crystal-hybrid plants in the greenhouse erected within the crumbling halls of a once-grand castle — their existence the main reason she had sought out such an isolated venue in the first place. Instead, she guided her sand-dusted horse around the perimeter, its hooves sinking heavily into the rocky dunes until she maneuvered the beast out of direct line-of-sight of anyone who might wander to close to the so-called abandoned palace. At least, anyone who didn't belong there. Not many knew of her side project, and even some who did know kept their distance. Which was just fine by Eleanor; there weren't many souls she could cohabitate with anyway. Leaving the horse loosely tied to what passed for a tree in these parts, El collected her waterskins and circled back around the outermost walls until she came to one of the entrances that weren't — perhaps too conveniently — blocked by rubble. Half-hidden by the sand that had blown in, a wire spanned the gateway. It had been attached to a series of rune-inscribed bells to alert her if anyone had tried to enter. As far as she could tell, it lay undisturbed, and she softly exhaled with relief before crossing the threshold into the central courtyard.

Leoxander wasn’t a beast made to run in the heat of the desert as her mount was, but although Eleanor wouldn’t have caught a glimpse of him throughout the day, he ignored the call of the cool forest to track her down by the time the skies’ colors were deepening through shades of orange and pink. He panted through clenched back teeth as he sought the shade of stone ruins, wingtips occasionally brushing the sand and rock from the two large grouse he transferred to his clawed hand as he hunched into a bipedal stance. It might just be her horse who would stir and give away his approach if the animal caught wind of him, although it wouldn’t be difficult to notice the silhouette of the lycanthrope at a distance, even if his tawny coat camouflaged well with the terrain. Keeping his distance from the nervous equine with a sidelong glare, his eyes gladly adjusted to the darkness as he followed Eleanor’s path around the perimeter of the castle ruins, to the mouth of that entrance where he knew her to be. Despite that he often remained near to her, whether known or not, and frequently returned to her company, the dire situation and their hopeless hunt made for a tentative relationship between the two, particularly as he could not communicate with more than grunts, growls, or a shift of ears or scruff. Moodiness was nothing new when it came to associating with Leo, but his physical state was dramatically different than his mentality, lean yet toned with coarse fur replaced by a light bronze coat that looked freshly shed from winter, the gray in his muzzle replaced by tones of deep brown and black. A tilt of his skull still cracked some vertebrae at the top of his spine for the adjustment of looking down rather than straight ahead, but there was no sign of fatigue in his body, even for the vast span of desert and the temperature throughout the day. He waited patiently for some welcome or permission to join her space, absently picking a few speckled feathers from his mouth with his free hand shaped paw.

Eleanor somehow knew /he/ was out there, always. Even if his precise position was a mystery to her, she found herself hesitating in the gateway before something pulled her sea-glass eyes over her shoulder toward the hazy horizon. The sun's waning rays streaked across her view, but virtually everything past a certain point could easily be a mirage. Concealed behind the mask, her lips twitched as she worked through whatever emotions she couldn't let herself deal with right now. There were several vying for center stage, and she shoved them all down through a deliberate intake of breath. The mask fluttered on the exhale, and the spellrogue crouched down alongside the entrance. Even though the tripwire had appeared intact, the rogue leader still took the time to check the crystal that acted as its battery, recharging it with what magic she had managed to steal today. With the damaged holy trees affecting magic users all throughout the realm, it was getting harder to reliably siphon any arcana. It was only a matter of time before she was caught within any at all. It had already been a significant gamble to unleash what she could into Leo earlier this year, and it had taken her weeks to replenish even a fraction of what she had lost. Nevertheless, the trap now recharged and rearmed, she moved further into the courtyard. Only a few steps in, though, and she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck all prickle and stand on end. Yards of sand and stone separated her from her horse, but its restless nickering seemed to echo around the half-enclosed space, setting her on edge. One hand, swatched in a light grayish-brown leather glove, moved slowly toward the small of her back, her fingertips brushing the tip of her dagger's hilt. The horse grew silent, huffing out only an idle breath, perhaps lulled into security by the familiarity of Leo's scent. El took a moment longer to settle into the comfort of recognition, and another, deeper sigh of relief fanned the mask out a few degrees from her mouth. "Leo." The sound was muffled, just as much by the spellrogue's cautious nature catching the sound half in her throat, as by the layers of fabric spread across the lower half of her face. The sharpness of her stare softened around the wrinkled edges, and despite knowing him fully capable of entering the courtyard without triggering the alarm, she nevertheless found herself telling him, "Watch yer step."

Leoxander watched her movements as best he could, unaware of the brief flicker of blur buried in the thickness of his chest fur while she expelled her arcane energy to the crystal. As he crossed the threshold without a bell tinkling, his eyes caught the last of the outside light to shine that rusted coin color against the large silhouette of the creature he had adapted to over the days, weeks, months they had both lost track of. Dinner captured if not served, he found a place to drop the pair of fat sandgrouse, be it some fallen stone to serve a surface or the sand littered floor. Instinct brought him back to fours, even though there wasn’t much of a ceiling, if any at all. Healthy as the hybrid wolf appeared, and seemed, something stopped him a few steps in, caused his bestial features to twinge and wince. His eyes squeezed closed a moment and those lynx tufted ears flattened as though his insides had twisted or cramped. A second later, it was dismissed with a rough corkscrew shake of his fur from skull to tail tip, a good bit of those tawny strands curiously dusting the air though he seemed groomed and fit. Blinking out of it, he continued his path toward the masked spellrogue and tried to swivel his ears and attention forward toward her. The beast chuffed, coughed, bowing his head to wipe that dark leathern nose on his shoulder, or bicep, were the muscle better defined through his patterned blonde and brown suit. A hard sniff, and he went so bold as to rub right into her side, his ribs bumping hers for his size, a bit roughly as he was never a gentle presence, no matter his form. He flopped down on the uncomfortable ground as though it was more familiar than the luxury her townhouse floors could provide, and fixed a steady gaze on his companion and one time lover. So many moons, new and blood, had passed since he had even a taste of that true physical bond, but he had come to terms that it would not come to pass again. Not as this animal he had long ago been cursed to. Quiet as ever, words capable or not, he fixed his eyes upon Eleanor. If there were any light within her abandon escape, she might possibly notice they were not as gold bled as they had been since that fateful night.

Eleanor kept her stare trained hard on Leo, trying to keep her sunkissed expression void of the more complicated emotions that threatened it. No matter how many suns they had seen dip beyond the western dunes together, seeing Leo walk around in Dal'ken skin was still sure to rile up something inside of her. Her hand left the blade's hilt to fall by her side, and she was immediately grateful for the distraction those grouse provided. The spellrogue's stomach twinged in sudden hunger pains, reminding El that she had scarcely eaten all day, maybe even all week. Her other hand still gripped the full waterskins, and for a beat, she seemed caught between two minds; one of her boots was pointed toward the grouse, the other toward something covered in yellowed tarps in the corner of the courtyard. Was it safe enough this evening to draw fire to the cooking pots hiding underneath? Any smoke seen might give away their presence, regardless of how remote they appeared to be. Another question surfaced; did she have enough magic to hide them, if they dared to risk it? El lifted her gaze from the tempting sandgrouse askew toward Leo, her left brow rising. Whatever question rose to her lips, though, retreated as the wolf moved further into the courtyard, and subtle though it was, her eyes widened at the lapse in his demeanor. She almost asked if he was okay — the words quickly flew to her chapped lips, ready to be spilled upon the sand; instead, she ground her teeth behind the mask, attempting (and perhaps failing) to quash the anxieties that spread through her chest and quickened her heartbeat. Evermore, Eleanor was destined to struggle between running closer and drawing away. However, the choice was taken from her — to her benefit — as Leo ventured into her space. There was no mistaking the way even tortured nearness like this had an effect on her. Her hands moved without the hesitation her lips did, to weave through the nearest tufts of fur. "Och," she scoffed out in a quiet, dry laugh, as he nudged right into her. She planted her boot to keep vertical, but the rest of her was ready to be swept out to his sea. Harboring a hidden half-smile, she breathed out, "Awrite thaur," and would continue to run her fingers through his fur if he had not then collapsed upon the sunbaked ground. All the same, she spied him edgewise as she, at last, withdrew, but without the emotional baggage that a previous retreat might have been carried on, had she carried it out at all. In the end, she decided they deserved a proper meal after all, even if she thought Leo might be more inclined to eat the grouse whole in his state. El felt she couldn't do much else for him, not without understanding more about her own magic, his curse, /him/ ... but maybe she could feed him. Yet, as she turned toward the corner that the cooking pot hid in, something drew her attention back toward Leo, dubious concern creeping back into her cautious depths as green met gold. Almost afraid her own words would disturb whatever was brewing, she summoned up the nerve to tug the mask from her mouth and deliberately say to him, "Somethin' is different, isnae it?"

Leoxander canted his head at first, to question her question. He would try to determine that he was fine with that stare. But he winced again, harder than the first, thrashed his skull a bit to try to shake it off, with temporary success. A glance toward the kill, as he was incapable of sparking fire with his clumsy hand-paws, then he began to pant again. Even in the cool shade of evening, in shelter, something blue flickered in his chest and faded. He continued to pant. Harder… faster… and he tried to get up. Four legs wobbled though he managed to straighten them out, and he started to turn, to leave. She had sustenance at least and that was a goal achieved. A sudden sound poured from his maw in pain, and he stopped on his way toward the exit. Pants, laced with heavy grunting escaped him every breath. He gripped the rocks till they crinkled against each other with his forepaws, shaped as clawed hands. It wasn’t long till bones started to snap. That fresh fur began to flake like the dust in the wind outside. And without making eye contact, she might hear a voice long neglected in her mind, calling out. “El… Eleanor…” Every muscled tensed and his eyes squeezed closed. Each time they tried to blink open they were bluer. His front collapsed while his hind legs tried to stand firm, chest to the ground. “Harp…” He pleaded, but it was out loud from his muzzle. Not the word he attempted to say. Dust and sand kicked up as the rest of his body collapsed and he began to writhe as if suffering some sort of internal battle, or a seizure.

Eleanor ; Under the veil of dust and sand, beneath sunbleached bangs, her brow slowly furrowed, pushing at the ridge of her diadem. She didn't understand what she was witnessing, not at first. Her gaze lowered from the pair of gold and blue, immediately searching his body for signs of physical distress. It wasn't much — she had to be so careful these days — but she drew upon a bead of power, just a morsel of it, sending out a faint pulse of concern from where she stood. The magic rippled toward the wolf, curious and frightened, not of him, but /for/ him. Scanning him equally with those guarded green twins, and maybe unable to meet his swiftly-changing eyes in return, she, at last, found her feet again and surged forward in the wake of that arcane probe. "Whit … whit is …" Her throat felt as parched as the desert around them, and her tongue felt viscid and leaden in her mouth. Each moment raced by but, at the same time, crawled on, suspended. Swallowing her reservations, Eleanor dared another two steps closer, her boots scuffling along the gravel ground. "Whit can Ah—" she began to ask vainly, but the grotesque crunch of bones silenced her. Her eyes flashed with the understanding that he wasn't just in pain but subjugated by a violent shift. She jolted backward abruptly, putting an arm span between them as much for his sake as her own. "Leo!" Eleanor cried out before she could stop herself, and her sun-rouged features twisted, contorting with her own feeble helplessness. D'Vainese curses sullied her lips in the wake of his name, but no brilliant ideas on how to help her former mate came to her, only turmoil, guilt. She knew she was not responsible for Leo's being a wolf in the first place, but /this/ suffering ... the last several months, she bore witness to the lengths of her self-assuredness, her arrogance. To think that she could save him, fix him, much less with her spoiled, chaotic magic. But as the bastardized words croaked from the half-man's throat, it was like chains being released from the spellrogue, and she leaped forward, descending to a knee at his side. "Och gods." El shook her head adamantly as if the gesture could dispel the affliction that gripped him. "Gods," she repeated, holding her arms over Leo, not touching him but poised as if ready to do ... something. Whatever that something was, ... "If Ah only kent whit tae dae."

Leoxander couldn’t relieve her from those helpless, admitted words she spoke to him. It had been an instinctual plea as the familiar but long absent pain struck through him like sky fire, but the retreat to his born body wouldn’t take quite the toll the transformation into Dal’ken had. The floor of gravel and sand would be littered with wolf fur as he dramatically shed it and revealed his human skin, still decorated with ink across his torso and arms, along with the new blue addition on his chest. On hands and knees, Leo dug his roughened fingers into the ground - not claws but blunted, filthy nails, the space between his knuckles still marked with the faded symbols of a gambler and thief. His hair had grown in those months, uneven but healthy blonde locks falling around his face, brushing across sun spotted shoulders as he coughed, gagged, groaned through the ordeal. It was there in her desert hideout that Leoxander reappeared after so many moons, visibly different than she would remember her grungy, shipless pirate. Many scars were still present but vague, the worst across his back and at his heart more pale map marks rather than cut in and deforming his skin. His frame was a well molded depiction of male; lean and chiseled, toned shoulders and back, defined muscles throughout his arms and legs as they had been exercised generously. No more obvious rib bones and sunken cheeks under the thick scruff that remained across his jaw line, very nearly a scraggly, ungroomed beard. The pained sounds in his throat were eventually choked back and his shoulder blades swelled and settled in the rhythm of a heavy pant, sweat dripping down from the tip of his prominent nose. Recovering in the silent moments to follow, he finally dared to lift his head through that grown mane, the darkness under his eyes still evident for the stress and sleeplessness, but his irises bright in color and lacking the red burn brought on by a lifelong addiction. A sand covered hand reached to his head for the ache pounding but fading gradually, like an echo in his skull, before he brought it down into his line of sight to look at the front and back of it, flexing his stiff fingers. From her point of view, with careful inspection, Leo could have passed for practically a decade younger from the rogue he had been, exhausted with life, lost, self abused and depressed enough that he’d looked older than a near immortal bitten before thirty should. As he eased his weight back he gave a glance at the faint brand still stamped on his left palm and he curled digits in against that reminder. On his knees, without a shred of clothing or fur, he turned his head at last to look at the woman at his side while still catching his breath from his affliction.

Eleanor's eyes were glued to Leo while he shed his wolf's clothing, and her jaw feathered with tension. She flexed her hands, curling the gloved digits inward and uncurling them again, making air-biscuits, if such a thing were possible of her. Yet, in reality, it was an unintentional side-effect of her mentally grasping at straws. The furrow of her brow and the slant of her chin brought the gem of her crown out from behind her curtain of sand dusted bangs; she could feel it, feel the accursed turquoise drawn to Leo, a veritable moth to its inevitable, fiery demise. But she couldn't pull her dumbstruck stare away from the scene, couldn't tear herself away from the man exposed in all his scarred and strange, unknown glory. El's pale eyes stumbled over the curve of renewed muscle and bone, and she swallowed hard, realizing just how long it had been since she had been privy to such a sight. The memory blazed through her mind, flesh, fur, a gamble taken in dusty attics. And still, it was like looking at Leo through someone else's eyes; everything was just as different as it was familiar. Eventually, her gaze made its way to the deep azure ink that stained Leo's skin in a swirling design of loops and woven knots. Hidden in the intricate artwork, it represented a wolf, likely more distinct without the underbrush of tawny fur that had protected it these past several moons. El soaked in the sight of that branding. She could just barely catch sight of its edges from her vantage point adjacent to the new man, and she released a shaky, shuddering breath. Lifting her gaze, scant degree by degree, she took another gamble to meet his haunted blue stare, and then all at once, the spellrogue threw her arms toward and around the wolf, hoping to gather him in a relieved and probably overeager squeeze. She didn't care how or where her arms went, she only cared about pulling Leo into her embrace if she could, and burying herself against him as she choked out, "Och thenk th'gods yoo're back."

Leoxander felt everything go still for those few seconds of silence, a thick tension hanging heavy in the hot desert air. His mind debated whether or not he was awake or dreaming, while azure locked to celadon gems until it was caught by the gleam of a true jewel upon her brow. Hands still hovering in the air and disbelief replacing a usually sullen or irritated expression on renewed features, it wasn’t until he actually felt her touch, that sudden embrace, that reality crashed down upon him in a wave of relief. The initial grunt that he coughed out was followed by a deep, exhaled breath, laced with the whisper of something like a low, hesitant laugh, or perhaps a wolf stuttering whine of joy. Easily managing to balance against her for his reinforced core, his forearms folded up around her arm across his chest, but before he could stop himself, his torso twisted and his arms collected her in return, clutching her perhaps a little -too- tightly as his lycanthrope strength was still flowing potent through his veins. Her words in his ear caused his eyes to close tightly as he lost himself for a moment, perhaps a few deep, muffled noises vibrating against the crook of her neck and shoulder as he buried his face there, that matted blonde hair right in her face. Once he realized what was happening, what he was doing, his arms relaxed that fierce grip and he slightly leaned back off her, retracting one hand to feel over his almost hairless stomach and chest. There had been a ‘once upon a time’ in Leo’s life where he worked more, drank less, and had youth on his side, which paid off in being physically sculpted, even if he always had somewhat lank structure. But never had he achieved what his once-King brother had in visible strength and appeal. As common as it was for the lycanthrope to be naked unexpectedly, he looked down between them not at any distinctive part, but instead caught the peculiar blue mark at the center of his chest that he was not accustomed to, callused fingertips risking a touch across it. He still didn’t speak, not that the skill was lost, but being in a desert with a very parched throat and out of practice for many months, it didn’t come naturally to him just yet.

Eleanor's heart hammered out a tattoo to match the azure-inked brands on both of them. She was shaking, although whether with relief or exhaustion, there was no perceptible difference between them. "Och gods," she breathed, shaking her head further into his matted mess of blond. The spellrogue didn't want to let go, yet at the same time, felt the overwhelming urge toward self-preservation. Complicated, painful walls went up slowly, deliberately, but only physically did she withdraw once Leo began to. This gave her the chance to inspect him better, gaze sweeping across the man from toes already taking on a coating of dust, toward the branding anew, and then taking in the rugged sight of his face. Something about the generous dark facial scruff to contrast with such strikingly familiar features captivated her in a long moment of stillness, her breath stuck in her chest. El was pulled from her state back down toward the magical tattoo, and the furrow to her brow renewed itself. "Och, Leo." The sound barely croaked out of her before she gritted her teeth together, nostrils flaring while the rogue tempered the rising emotions. Seafoam twins searched upward again, seeking out the exact blue pair whose gilt halos she had spent months staring into in any stolen moment that she could. A thief of time, she had been by locking him away in that form without offering any real reason; it was perhaps another source of her reservations about using magic. Fragments of guilt flickered through her shadowed eyes, but despite that, the crowned woman offered up a crooked smile, however uncertain it was. With a delicateness not usually displayed by the rough-edged woman, she proceeded with a quiet, "Ye ur back, reit?"

Leoxander hesitantly lifted his eyes from the mark to her face. Unchanged, save the depression he could clearly read, and the distinct memory of the day they returned to the office to find her tiger companion missing fresh in his mind. The guilt in her tone was palpable, and he offered a surprisingly tender touch to her jaw and the side of her throat, his coarse thumbprint tracing just under her eye to her cheekbone as his own dark brows furrowed slightly. He tried to speak, to make a sound, and he attempted to clear his dried throat before he turned his head to seek out the water skins he had witnessed her unload, selfishly motioning for one of them as he didn’t trust his human legs to stand yet. Hopefully she understood and responded, or if they were near enough he reached to retrieve one, fingers somewhat clumsy as he unstopped the lid to pour several gulps, and an extra one or two down his throat, dribbles spilling through the rugged chin fur covering the lower half of his face. The back of his arm wetted the wolf bite and broken scorpion in a wipe before he chuffed and grunted the grating out of his vocal chords to deeply state, “I never… left.” Confirmation to the truth she was already aware of. He had retained his human mind in the form of that hybrid beast. A heavy sigh escaped him, followed by one more drink that he kept in his mouth a moment while he restopped the water skin and offered it back or placed it down. “Nothing…” He admitted, still adjusting to his gutterel tone. “Every time… she’s -... she’s toying with us…” His voice faded toward the end, failure evident in his eyes as they shifted away from hers. He took a moment to look around that space, color replacing the nocturnal, heat sensing vision he had known for so many days and nights, and it caused his gaze to squint. Surprisingly, he had no urge for a hard drink, and although sore from the change, his blood was regenerating those repositioned bones and sinew as quickly as it had occurred. “Why’re… here?” Every word he spoke started to shift more into his usual sound, the roguish accent falling naturally back into place. He felt the air of the desert shift into its colder night, moreso that he wasn’t protected with a coat of fur or protective leather.

Eleanor's expression wavered as she strived to follow the wolf's needs, but she was a sharp learner. Even without the Common tongue to share between them, something had developed over time between the two rogues that encouraged an unspoken bond, potentially augmented by the ink spread across the wolf's chest and any dregs of her magic that still lurked within the azure swirls. Her chin jerked down in an uneven series of nods, and Eleanor scuffled backward until she could grab the two waterskins. Returning immediately to Leo's side, she offered up the one to watch him guzzle it like it was the first drops he'd had all year, while its partner she kept gripped in a tight fist. Again, El pitched her gaze directly toward him, but her expression shifted again, eyes flashing with an intangible ghost. The crowned woman had to swallow hard before drawing upon the strength needed to reply. "Ah ken," she began, but her tone trailed off. "Ah jist ..." Actual words were just as ineffective as she had felt in the moment of his misery, and they did little to represent the depth of emotions that loomed at the edges of her desert-weathered features. Frustration won out as the one displayed as tiny wrinkles surrounded her crystal clear stare, and she issued a heavy sigh, looking down to study the waterskin still propped up against a thigh as she knelt nearby. Whatever destructive thoughts swam around in her mind were ushered away, however, as Leo's words once more pierced the dusty air. "An' she knows precisely whit she's daein' tae," she told him plainly, still keeping her eyes fixated on the waterskin. "Ah feel loch Ah've been oan a gods-damned wild goose chase thes year." There was a weariness to the tone that nearly overshadowed her bitter resolve, but it wasn't quite there yet. Leo's question compelled the blonde to raise her gaze once more toward her partner-in-crime, yet this time, a spark of life had returned. A glimmer of mischief. "Och aye, weel ..." Straightening into a stand, she reached out with an empty hand to help Leo pull himself to his feet, too. "It might be better tae shaw ye."

Leoxander helped himself to a final drink that drained the first skin before he took hold of her helpful grip. His balance was off, and he bumped against her body, his heat radiating as hot as the desert in day, particularly in contrast with the cooling night. A grip to her shoulder with his free hand steadied him further, and he struggled to break his stare from her at a height not so unequal as it was before, to look around the ruined castle room he was in. It was dark, but he still had that ability of nocturnal vision no matter what form possessed him, pupils widening and dominating the blue to take in his surroundings. The sandgrouse he’d captured made him remember his hunger, which called even louder after that shift, but they… she would eventually need fire to feast. Putting that need aside, for now, he slid his hand to her arm to clutch for comfort and opted to follow her lead as his feet felt awkward, unsteady, though the months had trained them to rough terrain. “You haven’t… taken care of yourself.” That grisly voice accused lowly as he took a few steps at a time, adjusting to the straight cavalcade of his spine. Not one to be dependent upon another, in time he loosened that grip.

Eleanor easily held up the unsteady werewolf, curling an arm around his back for additional support, and as she angled her gaze up to Leo, her chin moved slightly in subtle but reassuring nods. Her eyesight wasn't nearly as acute in the darkness as her companion's, not without a magical boost, yet there was no wavering in her stance beneath his grasp. She was still solid muscles and generous curves, even if it felt as though she'd been running ragged for months. Perhaps it was that constant chase that kept her physique well-trained, although it was nothing compared to the werewolf's refined form, despite the sealegs under him. Either way, she began to move through the sheltered courtyard with a steadfast grace that highlighted her comfort in this place, conceivably made safer by his presence. As deliberate steps carried them toward the other side of the courtyard, the air in front of them shimmered for a heartbeat, before whatever illusion had been constructed there was pulled back. Layer by layer was exposed beneath one of the holes in the half-destroyed vaulted ceilings until a room-within-the-room was revealed. The walls were murky, hiding the secrets behind specially treated glass panels, designed and positioned to catch the sunlight during the day. It was not a wide room, approximately ten feet by five feet based on the exterior visible to them now, but it rose to the elevated roof until nearly two stories high. A single wooden door in the wall facing them led inside. Turning to face Leo, her expression was nebulous in the nearly-gone light. "Th' scran will still be thaur in a moment," she told him quietly, "but ye asked ..." She reached to give his arm a squeeze; a strange gesture maybe, but a certain giddiness had come over her as she moved closer to the door. Any close inspection to the greenhouse would reveal hundreds, possibly even thousands of sigils, each no more than palm-sized, etched carefully into the planes of glass and the iron-and-oak frames that supported them. With scarcely a meter between herself and the door, she tilted her attention back up to Leo, doubt surfacing, and she flashed him a sharp, lopsided grin. "Weel, oan second thooght, mebbe we shoods eat first." The spellrogue's pale green gaze was diverted toward the door once more, and her affectedly idiomatic expression wavered before she attempted to turn them back around toward the tarp that still hid the cooking pot.

Leoxander had come this far. Food was a necessity but he wasn’t about to leave himself in frustrating curiosity, not when every step closer, he felt better. Better than he had felt in a long time. Given the fact he hadn’t consumed his usual deadly dose of whiskey, he felt like he could destroy towers with a throw of his fist, but reined in that desire to find his flat feet on the floor steady by the time they reached her secret. “After…” He grunted the word and dislodged himself from her support, not ungrateful, but ever the stubborn and self capable bastard that she had known him to be. Only his body had changed. In time, perhaps it would affect his mentality. Perhaps she would. His other arm reached to push open the door, a bit brutally, because he temporarily forgot such logic as doorknobs. Hopefully he didn’t cause too much destruction as he broke open the barrier, her familiar smirk ignored as he took a step in front of her into the greenhouse and through the tattered hair grown longer than he’d known it to be, let his gaze drift across the scene. Light would have supported the brilliant scene, but he could see each sigil clearly. “What’s… all this?” His voice was clearing up with every word, but still had that gravel undertone.

Eleanor arched a brow at the werewolf. "Fine, efter," she parroted, but the smirk that ghosted her lips endured. Her gaze followed Leo steadily as he withdrew, and while she was reluctant to let him out of arm's reach, she did nothing to stop his movements and even lifted her sculpted arms to casually fold them over one another. For the moment, at least. Within a heartbeat, Leo had gone a direct route through the doorway, the door groaning and splintering under his assault as it creaked open. El unfolded her arms with a scoff, gesturing at him and the door in one arc. "Damnit, Leo, that's tois doors now this year— ye cannae— ye cannae jist go an' break doon every ay mah doors. Ah'm nae a ... a door maker!" With the door forced open and the mystical barrier created by the sigils temporarily removed, a thick, heady aroma flooded outward, a sickly-sweet mixture of something organic adulterated by the undercurrent of magic. Rolling her eyes at Leo, El lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose before drawing in a slow breath and pulled her mask back up over her nose. Helping herself past the door, giving it a very long stare as she did so, she moved into the shaded greenhouse to join her former mate. Most of the interior was still cast in shadows, but as Leo moved inside, the room seemed to faintly react to him — more specifically, to the magic imbued in the tattoo branded to his chest. The batches of ultraviolet and blue flowers nearest Leoxander began to give off a dull glow, and once the jewel-crowned rogue came into range, the room exploded with bioluminescence to match the flowers. A series of garden plots were built into the greenhouse interior, with tall lattices to support the vine-line plants. Intertwined among the creepers were crudely-designed aquamarines, which gave off a bluish light at the same rhythm as the flowers themselves. Catching how the plants had already responded to Leo, she scowled, turning away toward a pail by the doorway. "Dornt breathe it in tae deeply," she warned him over a shoulder, quietly to hide the sobering tremor to her voice. The spellrogue pulled out a mask and shoved it in his direction. Straightening to face the pirate, she added carefully, "They're nae reit," and jerked her chin toward the plants. "Ah hud a ... wise bird tak' a swatch afair Ah brooght them haur, awa' frae everythin'." Shifting her gaze sidelong toward the nearest bundle of petals, her voice dropped to add, "They ... hae a part ay mah magic, inside ay them." In the same edgewise stare, her eyes moved toward the swirling dark design imprinted on the other's skin. Flitting her eyes back up toward his, the spark had returned. "Yoo're fixing th' duir," she growled at him, the mask fluttering. Shouldering past, she exited the greenhouse to gather up the grouse.

Leoxander initially snapped a look her way as if to foolishly argue over the door comment, but his sidelong glance teased an almost playful glare. Without apology or explanation he returned his focus to the room as she swept by. He trailed in a few steps behind, still unabashed by his nudity as he hardly seemed to realize it. Naturally, his eyes were drawn to the plants that flickered with a familiar glow, but he had enough years under his belt (and a rough lesson learned with dust) to be wary of her projects. He was on bated breath, but her warning further advised that he not breathe too deeply, as he was already aware of the taste in the air that seemed to coat his lungs and throat. Leo followed her instruction to cover his bearded features when she offered that only piece of clothing he’d wear, for now. Adjusting and securing the mask over his face, his eyes squinted against the brighter glow her nearness caused, distracted by the curious and admittedly impressive display while he brushed off her last remark. “Yeah…” Because there was plenty of damned wood in the desert… but he would figure it out, that repair. Rather than follow her out right away, he lingered a few seconds longer in those aquamarine surroundings, puzzling over her words. “It ain’t what yer... posse made the dust out’a, is it?” Leoxander couldn’t risk another life threatening allergy, despite his renewed and healthy state. Pausing, he tried to fix the door on it’s hinges or at least fit it into the space as the lights behind it faded back to dark. “Speakin’ o’which... I think they ain’t the only thing to have some mark o’ yer magic. You wanna explain this?” The lycanthrope returned to human form turned with a tap on the center of his breastbone, approaching her to assist with the task of building a fire (lest she had an easier way), and stripping their dinner of feathers.

The muted crunch of El's boots paused on the roughhewn ground just outside of the greenhouse when she turned her attention wholly toward Leo. "Nae, there's nae doost in these." The words rolled out of her emphatically, stirring a sharp intake of breath. Pursing her lips, and damned glad she had pulled the desert mask back up over her nose to hide half her face and protect herself from the spores, she regarded Leo pensively in the half-light of the courtyard. It was a dreary gray-orange in the crumbling courtyard before shifting into long shadows, twilight taking over, but the glow of the plants had drawn Leo's figure the light. After a length, by which she'd turned back to gather the grouse and pulled the tarp off the cooking pot, Eleanor pulled the mask down to her collar and heavily told him, "Ah cannae." Beat. "Ah cannae, Leo. Ah had nae idea ... Gods, Ah'm sae glaikit fur tryin' tae ... Ah cannae e'en say." The spellrogue went silent, fixating on arranging the cooking pot and firepit that it was over. El took in a deep breath crouching down in front of the cacti logs propped up under the cooking pot. Rubbing her palms together, she summoned a palm-sized flame; it bobbed and wavered uncertainly, prompting the woman to frown, grumbling something under her breath in her native tongue. "Ah shoods nae hae," she continued steadily. "Ah had nae idea whit Ah was daein'. Mah magic is ..." The spellrogue tried again, rubbing her palms together before clicking thumbs; the flame danced stronger this time, but its colors ranged from blue to red-orange to black and back again. Notwithstanding the flame's apparent limitations, the spell thief ushered it against the logs, which began to crackle and ooze out a yellow-greenish sap, which was notably better smelling than the aroma given off by the rogue's crystal-plant hybrids. "Somethin' is wrang wi' it, somethin' is wrang wi' th' plants in thaur, wi' me ..." As the flames slowly took to the dried out cactus logs, they helped chase off the chill of night. Despite that, El quavered for a heartbeat, turning her concentration toward the grouse and whatever it would take to prep them for the spit over the growing fire, meager though it would have to be. "Whaur Ah am frae, it was called damainte — accursed." Only then did the woman shift in Leo's direction, although she kept her gaze guarded, tracing the inked design in his chest by memory. "Ah cannae say hoo it will affect ye ... Ah didne ken yoo'd be ..." Eleanor heaved a sigh, before lifting her eyes toward him proper. "Ah didne ken whit tae dae, Ah jist wanted—" She wasn't sure what she wanted, and her words trailed off, filling the dark space between them with her guilt. "Ah saw sae many things 'at night ... an' some nights since."

Leoxander also pulled the cloth from his dirty features, bits of old blood evident in his half beard on a close inspection in the light, and mud and weariness caked under his starkly blue eyes. So blue after so long that they shined against his darker features, but tinted and reflected green when the magic sparked at her palm. He found some place to drop his bare-ass onto rather than the floor, the dead birds collected so he could start aggressively tearing the feathers from where they anchored into loose skin, carelessly littering them onto the floor. She must have really missed this; his making messes and breaking doors. Once again his eyes flashed for her second try for fire, but the narrowing in his eyes didn’t really seem angry or accusing, a silence filled from desert beetles trilling in the distance beyond those walls in the pause before he spoke. “I remember. Everything.” His gaze lowered a moment to the balding grouse, his actions stilled, before he started ripping feathers out roughly again. “Everything…” Time taken for a breath and he cleared some of the grated sensation out of his vocal chords with a cough to the side and a spit into the gravel. “It wasn’t your fault. We… we were fighting. You were telling me…” Jaw tensed, clenched, he slightly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter…” But as he said this, he twisted and tore the head off the dead creature, blood splattering the gravel and his knee, painting his fingerprints. Hers he would have to gut, but without claws he’d need a knife. For now he put it aside to let it spill and reached for the second, only intending to remove it’s feathers even if he didn’t have the enhanced canines to tear flesh. “What does matter if I might’a done somethin’ far worse if you hadn’t done what you did. I just… it’s never happened like that before. I knew who I was, what I was, felt every goddamn minute pass in those months. Usually I can’t remember a bloody thing until I’m bare assed somewhere in the fog forest or some other god forsaken place…” His inked frame would probably come back to life when she got that fire burning, remindinging of his filthy, naked but well recovered physical state.

When Leo began to speak, El shed an indirect glance toward him, her features a rough sea as she struggled to ride through emotions unwittingly drawn up, the likes of which she felt unprepared to deal with tonight. /Everything./ She couldn't even begin to fathom if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Nine hells, she wasn't even sure where her visions ended … and Leo's memories began. Were they indeed his memories? Or some trick of the spell backfiring? The deep blue branding on the pirate's chest lured another gaze askew, but her expression darkened as blood sprayed across her sight. Without a word, she reached over and grabbed the other grouse, producing a slender, curved blade from gods-knew-where to slide through the bird before leaving it to Leo to check the fire. Slowly, celadon twins lifted from the fickle flames toward Leo's clear blue pair, both familiar and long-lost, and bit by bit, her stern features gave way again to edges smoothed over, unable to retain their sharpness in the wolf's presence. "Ah couldnae lit ye go ... Nae again, nae loch 'at." The woman drew in a shaking breath but didn't pull her stare away. "Nae tae /him/." Her head moved back and forth, the firelight reflecting off the smooth surface of her crown jewel, and when she spoke again, the spellrogue's words were especially guarded, no matter how earnest they fell from her lips. "As suin as Ah saw ye, Leo— Ah /saw/ ye, gods — all Ah coods hink abit was keepin' ye."

Leoxander watched her work that blade as clean as ever, just in time for him to finish plucking the other large bird. About the size of a healthy chicken from a farm, for the lack of four fanged predators that far into the desert and the abundance of snakes and bugs. He set his own meal aside and picked up hers, detaching organs and tossing the inedible into the fire she created with a hiss and spray of mild embers, the heart itself popped into his mouth like an horderve which leaked a little blood from the corner of his mouth as he chewed. He’d been wolf long enough he’d nearly forgotten the need for cooked meat, but his stomach was well suited to absorb the nutrition from the disgusting snack. Just as his mind took the time to absorb her words. Really take them in. He saved the liver, the kidney, to put them aside with intention of cooking them for her benefit over the fire, standing once done to bring her meal to the cooking pot to let her roast or broil it as she would. “Keep me…” Mused quietly, almost under his breath. “After everythin’ I’ve done to you.” She’d said her peace, prior, not a direct apology but some admitting to their mutual faults and a defeated ‘could-be’ friendship, partnership, ...relationship. “I do this, time an’ time again. I get…” He almost revealed to being afraid, but stopped himself to try to explain his thoughts into words after so long without them. “I don’t know what I’m doin’ half the time, El’. You an’ I started to build somethin’ I know I probably wanted. It ain’t castles and fame or fortune, but it felt right for awhile. That wedding… you an’ me…” He faded off, what might have been a smirk melting into a frown as he recalled the night to follow their great heist of royalty. A now shattered crown inherited from his own half-blood brother, no less. The adams apple in his throat rolled for a swallow as he sat back down, hands coming together between his knees to conveniently cover shadowed parts. “I get into my own damn head that no matter how good it gets, I’ma fug it up, eventually. I run. I always run…” He let his reunited voice fade and seemed to stare at the fire, through it, but couldn’t lift his eyes to hers, yet.

Eleanor stole looks toward Leo, and there was a hint of a grin hiding in her desert-brushed features; the wistfulness was brief, but only to be replaced by other equally involved feelings. They certainly had tried to build something. It felt like lifetimes ago, and a nostalgic sadness crept into the crooked smile peeking through her stony facade. "Reit, th' weddin'," she all but breathed as the reference transported her back in time. As if by anxious tic or mindless comfort, the spellrogue fiddled with her gloves, her left hand tugging at one of her right fingers. In addition to the crown, she had acquired something else that night, too. Breathing unsteadily through her nose, it was a beat or three before she tried to study the rugged outline of the wolf opposite her. She was still trying to wrap her head around his shift, of the sight of him … as himself, again. Two years. Angry ships in the night. Her bitterness and arrogant desperation stole another half-year—Damn Dal'ken to every level of hell. Damn the Oracle for this wild goose chase. And yet, Eleanor couldn't help but try to commit Leo's rough traits to memory in the flickering light. "Ye can run, Leo ..." she chuckled wryly. "What dae ye hink Ah've been daein' thes year? Chasin' efter /her/ because it's fun?" A heavy, conflicted sigh fell from the spellrogue, and her gaze sank to scrutinize instead the poor excuse for a soup she'd begun. Taking up a ladle, El pursed her lips and stirred, giving the lifeless base a few good pokes. "That's whit fowk loch us dae, loove." Her tone still retained its dry humor, but there was an honesty to the introspection underneath, as well, giving it a sobering edge. "Sure as hell beats stayin' to watch somethin' amazin' fall apart."

Leoxander had to give her some credit, unspoken and in his mind, but a slight nudge of his head revealed it enough as she spoke that last statement. The ‘watching it all fall apart’ ached worse than any wound he’d known, but here she was in the firelight in his sights again, and tugging strings he didn’t think his heart still had. If there happened to be a handy stick or poker for a lazy spit, he’d pierce his bird on it, figuring a rare cook would at least spare her the sight of blood. Besides, it had been a long time since he’d eaten anything hot - unless you counted the sunbathing lizard that had sustained him tracking her down. Reminded of the desert, it was a safe bet to change the subject and work out a problem they-....or at least he, faced. “How the hell am I s’posed to get outta here?” And what then?, was the follow up question in his head. He had a scrap of clothing that was meant for his face and his skin wasn’t as used to the light as it had been when he acquainted with the sea. Fur had left him a little less tan than usual, but it wasn’t obvious in the dark and covered in dirt as he was. That long trek naked, bare-footed, be it heat of day or desert chill of night wasn’t an option. And it might just be a tad awkward riding behind her on a horse. He glanced her way and let his eyes drink her in with a sweep low and high. Gods damn you, Leo. Maybe that's just what they had done. Distracting himself, he turned the fowl in the fire, skin already blistering black for his lack of cooking skill.

Eleanor huffed out a sardonic laugh, her full lips twitching again as if they were in combat with a conspiratorial smirk. A million different scenarios of his exit were summoned at the forefront of her mind, some definitely more pleasing and downright amusing than others. "However ye want, loove. Nae a body is keepin' ye haur." Certainly not the spellrogue — that she'll admit readily, at least. " 'Course, if ye hadnae broken through th' duir into th' greenhoose," she continued, her tone teasing between coy and accusatory, "ye coods hae used it tae lae." El lifted her brows and slid her eyes toward the wolf; there was no attempt to hide the dark grin now curving her lips. "Heel," the spellrogue crowed, her voice dropping. "Ah coods hae dropped yer ungrateful crease at th' Jolly Roger, if'n that's whit ye wanted." Her brows remained arched as she pointedly glanced toward the door set up against the jamb and back at Leo again. At which point, she rolled her sculpted shoulders in a shrug that was probably more smug than necessary and returned her attention to the soup. "Nae mair Ah can dae fur thes," she concluded with a self-deprecating scoff, "but it's better than water an' piss."

Leoxander still had those moments where he struggled with her accent, and her behavior. Right now he could tell that definitely wasn’t a frown on her face, whether she’d pulled the mask down or not. Her eyes and posture gave her away, the body of a woman whose body he knew well. “I’ll fix the g’damn bloody door later. You sayin’ those… whatever the hell yer growin’ in there can… travel you?” He didn’t have the proper name for it. Beside the mark on his chest and the brand on his palm, Leoxander didn’t know much about magic, and all he knew was chaotic, thus far. His bird was cooked enough, and another distraction was necessary to get his frustrated but harmless glare off her. That damn woman was only stirring him because he no longer had the jaws and claws, or so he told himself. Her mention of the soup prompted a grumbled, “Yer welcome…” as he pulled off a scorched leg and stuck the stick down in the dirt with enough strength that revealed his body renewed to a state that showed his lycanthrope blood. Muscles renewed to a state even defined in the firelight, he tore off a bite and closed his eyes as he chewed his first taste of a proper meal in a while. Her soup be damned. He was even so generous to tear off a well cooked wing and tossed it precisely into the pot underhanded. Even his aim was on point, though it might splatter a bit of her broth onto her ungloved hand. Perhaps intentional.

Eleanor blinked and shook her head. "Whit? Those? Gods, nae, Ah wish—" She huffed out a soft laugh, shaking her head once more. For a moment, her gaze skirted away to regard the door, or more accurately, the crystal-hybrid plants beyond. "Nae, they—" Returning her attention to Leo, she dropped her ladle in the cauldron and hastily yanked off whatever gloves remained. Hiding beneath her layers of desert gear, so many of her tattoos had long-since vanished. Still, the interwoven swirls that stained her right palm remained as freshly azure as the day she carved the sigil there several years before. "Nae everythin' is lost, Leo," she told him quietly, and perhaps a little exasperatedly, displaying her own branded palm and angling it against the firelight. In doing so, the tiny, glittering black engagement ring they'd lifted from the royal affair was equally revealed in place on her right hand. The dark blue ink of the tattoo almost seemed to move, bits of chaotic energy waiting for a door to unlock. "Ye dornt pure believe Ah tak' th' cuddie every place, dae ye?" El lifted her eyes, seeking out the returned blue pair just as her horse chuffed softly in the not-too-far distance. "It cost me an arm an' a leg tae learn thes rune," the spellrogue added thoughtfully, examining her palm and ignoring dinner despite her stomach's protests. "Th' only benefit is hoo wee magic it actually takes tae use it." Flicking her gaze back to Leo, she added slyly, "That is, if Ah had a duir tae use it on." Alright, so maybe she wasn't entirely done giving the wolf grief for that door and many others that lay strewn about their lives, evidence of the destruction the pair of rogues yielded to each other. Whatever gruel was splattered on her was probably well-earned. Notwithstanding, El exhaled shortly through her nose, regarding the pirate as she dropped her gloves in her lap and reached for the freshly-sauteed wing. Using the soup more or less as a dipping sauce, she moved in on the wing, much to her stomach's delight, and it was a downright struggle not to moan as such. Eleanor promptly realized she was famished, and the wing was devoured within moments, soup dribbling down her chin before being rubbed away with the back of her wrist. She was quiet as she ate, though, almost as if mulling over something — truth be told, that seemed to be a lot, lately. Her chewing slowed, digesting each bite as much as the morsel of information, pale eyes darting toward the cacti she'd used as kindling. It was an effort to keep her face from revealing too much, damn the mask for still being down around her neck; she felt as naked as he was. And there was no godforsaken reason to draw the shadows up around her without making it obvious. Directing her attention back to Leo, she tried to study his features' harsh lines and shapes. But he felt both familiar and suddenly unfamiliar to her, and she slowly looked away before speaking to examine the food as if it was the most savory dish in the world. "Is 'at whaur yoo'd want tae go?" Why was she even speaking; she couldn't seem to shut herself up. "Human aw ay fife minutes an' yer worried about how tae leave ... Ah can try tae fix th' duir tonecht."

Leoxander was watching her now, mostly focused on her lips, while she ate and spoke. That soup on her chin, he almost wanted to help her with it and not with his wrist. Finally, at her last offer to ‘fix’ seemingly wrong doings, he involuntarily and slightly shook his head. “No…” He heard himself speak before he could stop, as well. “What d’we have to go back to, beside the birds?” Cannibals, they were, feasting on their own kind. Maybe she would understand his point. Maybe not. “We gotta find her and fix this. An’... I think this is somethin’ we’re gonna have to do together.” He admitted that hesitantly. “El…” How did he begin this speech? Not with a sorry. “How can we make this… work? Trust isn’t something we know…” He focused firmly upon her now, his eyes that inherited blue. Flickering sometimes beastly in the dance of the fire between them. Although his stomach was also craving more of that sustenance, there was another hunger that kept his attention on her. “Somethin’... some thing keeps bringing us together, and it ain’t the crows. It isn’t the witch, either.” His voice was coming back to the rough, accented, pirate worthy dialogue she knew well. “We gotta finish this before we fix anything. ‘Cause it’s never gonna be fixed until we stop her.” He could hardly keep up with what he was saying, or doing, because he stood up in that moment and stilled, torn between approaching her and… “I gotta take a piss.” He abruptly announced, perhaps lying for the sixth distraction he’d give himself for the night. Leo turned with intentions of walking out of the ruins to the cold grounds outside.

With Eleanor's immediate hunger sated, there was naught left in the cauldron to fixate on and she couldn't help but look up toward the pirate in rueful apprehension. Her expression shifted before him, plainly betraying just how much she agreed and furthermore, hung onto every word. Lowering what food remained and setting everything aside, she plucked up the gloves, grasping them in one hand and suspended there a beat or two. Releasing a bated sigh, the spellrogue next drew in a breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of words rushing to the gates. Yet not a word spilled out of her, only the hiss of another sigh as Leo suddenly pivoted away. It was like the spring coiled within her was released, but without it the cathartic waves after. El felt even more tension twist in her limbs, her seaglass stare boring through the wolf's retreating back. Her temple feathered for the might with which she grit her teeth, and her hand flexed around the gloves, before she agitatedly tugged each of them back on, thereby hiding the stolen ring once more and cursing out a tight-lipped, "Daingead." The woman wasn't even sure what she had planned to say, and now her thoughts were a whirlwind, stumbling over and over Leo's words with guarded analysis. Her lips moved, her jaw worked as though still she tried to summon something worth saying, but could only exhale in frustration. Eyes closing, Eleanor mentally began counting and vainly attempting to steady breath and heart.

Leoxander spoke quietly. “C’mere…” His call from the dark, a distance away. He didn’t need that excuse, after all. Leo was standing there just outside the broken stone walls in the dark, with barely any light to outline his form. But he could see her clearly with his nocturnal gift, whether she obliged or not. His gaze was lifted to the stars. Stars that never shined so clearly in Cenril, or Rynvale, or anywhere else. When he turned his head back to look for her, she might be guided by that reflection in his eyes from the fire.

Eleanor's brow twitched, her jaw feathering again. Damn if she wasn't trying not to furrow so much. She could feel the cold iron of her crown pressing down like a sudden weight around her, drawing her to swallow, hesitating for a million different reasons even though every part of her was ready to move the second she heard Leo speak. El waited, a heartbeat, another, and let out a quietly trembling laugh. "Fine, but Ah'm nae helpin' ye piss." The spellrogue rose from her crouch, stretching her legs with each deliberately slow step. Her limbs felt leaden, as if she weren't rejuvenated by both his presence and the food; but more than by her own might, catching his stare was enough to lure her in almost through a trance, and another, harder swallow caught in her throat. Several more curses wanted to fly out, each muttered mentally if nothing else, but as she approached the wolf hiding in the darkness, her gaze narrowed. He was as much the hunter as she the prey, and this did little to soothe the rhythm of her breathing. If anything, it tempted that familiar smirk to her lips, where it hid in the corners like a ghostly cobweb, barely there but for whispers of its presence. Finding her voice at last as she came just within arm's reach, the spellrogue thickly demanded, "Whit is it ye want, Leo?"

Leoxander could hear her heart with his wolf ears. Maybe it was that rune impressed over his heart. He turned to face her deliberately. Leo was quiet for long moments, frowning - not at her, at himself. This was a more than difficult situation. “I followed you for a reason, after all this time. That means somethin’... doesn’t it?” His very blue eyes squinted with the dirt enhancing the dark circles that existed before. Leo hadn’t seen himself in a mirror to realize that he had regenerated physically. He only knew that he felt stronger, and that she was there. “Eleanor… can we fix this?” The witch, Tuna, the moment, their predicament. Everything. “I don’t know what it is I want. I just know I-..” He hesitated a moment, found some newfound strength, and rejoined with her gaze. “It needs to be with you.” Leoxander was vulnerable in that moment, and wanted to run. But he stood there, waiting.

The delicate lines around the spellrogue's pale eyes softened, although her stare itself did not as she fixed it on Leo. She was no wolf like he was, and her magic wasn't quite what it used to be, yet … there was definitely something there. Something she couldn't name either, something that compelled her forward another step, another. "Leo,..." There it was suddenly — the frown she'd been fighting off all night, wrinkling against her crown, dimpling her chin, and firmly rooting her feet in the place where she now stood. She was trying; gods, everything in her wanted her to span the divide and lose herself in him entirely. But she couldn't move again, and her heart was pounding in her ears, joining the ringing that had begun between her temples. "Ye … ken whit Ah want," the spellrogue breathed unsteadily. Even that took so much effort; she could feel the fight-or-flight response. Was it easier to stay or easier to go? "Ah want …" The air whooshed from her, and she was trying not to gulp down oxygen too obviously, feeling starved for it as much as she was for the wolf in front of her. Before she could lose the words again, they sped out of her in earnest. "Whit Ah want hasnae changed."

Leoxander was fixed upon her. He had unfolded words he did not know to speak, and he had his answer. Or the only solution he understood. Everything had changed. Her. Him. His world. But he accepted it as best as he could. “I’ll be a’right, then. So will you.” Desert or not, fur or not, he couldn’t stay. “I’ll keep hunting her, for the birds.” For you, his eyes said. His gaze moved from her across the vast emptiness that was the desert and he stepped away. There was no wolf form to assist his steps, but with her words, he was prepared to face that challenge and leave with his answer.

Eleanor had never wanted to be just 'a'right'; nothing was ever just alright for her, for them, no. They were among the dreamers, the life-livers, the takers. They demanded the world, and when it wouldn't yield, they stole it. "Leo—" His name was lost on her tongue, but her hands knew the way just as they had remembered the path through fur and pain earlier. At least one of them reached out to still the wolf by the wrist, and her feet followed, scuffling across the gravel in her desert boots. "Forget about th' birds," she all but hissed, but it wasn't at him, but at herself just as much. "Forget— didnae forget … about me." It was hard enough working through emotions for which she barely knew the words in Common, much less knew which ones were the right ones to say to Leo to appropriately express herself. Actions were so much easier for the spellrogue, but actions got her in trouble. Leo tempted that trouble, and he damn well knew it. "Whit is it ye need frae me reit noo? Shall Ah teel a' fowk yoo're "mo ghaol"?" She spoke the term with earnest but careful delivery to quiet the tremble of nerves lurking underneath. The D'Vainese had spilt out of her with force at the end despite her best efforts, belying the depth at which she was trying to keep herself contained. "Ye ken Ah'd gie ye ev'rythin', Leo." The witch had to die, but El had doubts as to when exactly that had to happen, as far as he was concerned. Her throat was thick, stirring a hard swallow before, whether she'd gathered his wrist or not, she folded her own arms in defiance. "Is tu mo ghaol," she repeated decisively. "Whether ye leave haur tonecht ur nae."

Leoxander secretly hoped she’d stop him, and she did with that grasp of his inked wrist. He stopped, heard her words, and replied with the voice he had seized again with his human form. A sharp look snapped back toward her, “There’s no forgetting you, El. Why the hell would I be here if there was?” He seemed angry, aggravated, but despite that external behavior, he turned and collected her at the back of her waist in an arm to lift her off those boots, taking steps that put her shoulder blades firmly into a ruined stone wall. “What else do I have to do to prove that to you?!” Nose to nose, unless she fought him off, he demanded that question. But he found the answer as he tried to aggressively meet her mouth for a kiss that might bleed between their lips, unless she found a way to stop him.

Eleanor's celadon eyes flashed at Leo, the fire in his words stirring the gem in her brow to life for a fluttering heartbeat. She had a whole mess of memories mixed up in her mind, a lifetime of her own and a glimpse into his and yet somehow none brought her any closer to preparing for the pirate's assault. Whatever frustrated reply she summoned the courage to spit out was quashed effectively as she slammed into the castle wall, knocking the wind from her lungs. There was no time to draw breath anew and even if there had been, El would have forsaken it forever if given a second chance to decide. Oxygen no longer mattered in that moment, replaced entirely as all Eleanor needed to live by the hungry mouth she unquestioningly surrendered to. Ignoring the ache that grew between her shoulder blades, the spellrogue's hands reached for tufted locks of blond, and it took every ounce of her not to crumble as she begrudgingly tried to pry her bruised lips away enough to mumble against his. "Stay," she tried to say. "That's … aw ye ever hud tae dae."

Leoxander panted like he’d run across the desert and back against her lips when she managed to pry the kiss apart. His own arm was bruised for the relief he’d spared her back, still not realizing his own newfound strength in this humanized form. “Stay…” He repeated breathlessly. There was a world away he’d forgotten, and now… it was gone. He nodded, roughly at first, and breathed against her lips as she gripped his hair. “I’ll stay.” It seemed he would give his life, literally, for that moment. Ship, sea, memories and all. He tried another kiss and tilted his head into this one to truly connect with a twist of tongues, no longer worrying about how he might get away or escape. As he intended to protect her, he began to trust she would take care of him, equally, as they had in a distant past.

Eleanor's chin moved, a nod, a nuzzle, before yielding to the bond between them. Her fingers were no longer merely holding Leo's hair, but entwined in it, as she was in him. "Stay wi' me, /mo ghaol/." The words came easier to her this time, given life by his, and between each passage she drank of him. And just as emboldened and enriched by this moment, she gave just as much back to deliver what her words could not.

Leoxander had no real plan or intention with the desert clothed woman, but his arms acted on their own when they all too easily reached down behind her thighs to hoist her up and meet his height. And in that fateful night in the ruins mid deserted desert, that kiss prevailed for… Well, to be continued.

Bedroom, Abandoned Palace

The simple door opens into a not so simple room. On either side are hand carved pieces of furniture which were possibly used to house clothing and boots, or maybe even armor. A separate piece looks to be what once held the ruler's weapons. A beautiful mirror is to your left, beneath it a small table with a porcelain bowl and linens, for bathing and shaving as evidenced by a rather new looking blade in a rather old looking palace. Perhaps it was left behind by an errant traveller, or perhaps not. The wall across from you houses a window which corresponds with the one in the rooms below; once perhaps the couple looked out over an entire inland sea. The bed sits as the crowning piece to the room. Elegantly carved, with a high mattress, feather pillows and covers that hold the freshness of the morning using the magic of this place. Lighting is provided by smaller stones to give off a more intimate feeling. The room still seems occupied as clothing is evident, and a small alcove houses two well carved beds that would have housed two children born of this palace from newborn until full growth, the wood of the bed shifting shape as they themselves grow. There is an almost mystical desire in you to leave this room to its silent rest, as if the long silenced ghost of the king and queen still reside here... wanting even in death their one place of privacy.

Leoxander had been in this type of situation plenty of times in his rogue-fated lifestyle, even since his childhood. Breaking and entering had become a personal pastime, but it wasn’t quite as thrilling in an obviously abandoned place, and it wasn’t valuable heirlooms or stashed profit he was after. Given his promise to stay, he didn’t go far, but whether she accompanied him in that exploration of the castle or not, he found himself in the last room where it almost seemed… suspiciously perfect to his needs. Yet he hesitated in the doorway as the hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickled, dirt shadowed eyes scanning slowly across those ritzy digs, the feeling of his intrusion not ominous but more contrite. Necessity outweighed sympathy every time for Leo, so he invaded that serene space, but was stopped short again when the large mirror to his left reflected an image he almost didn’t recognize. He was never one to stare vainly into a mirror, in fact often seeing himself in a looking glass made him cringe and look away like a sinner faced with a prayer, but dumbfounded, he was caught like grass-eater in a spotlight. From the knotted hair that reached passed his jaw and the thick beard that had recently assaulted his lover’s face, the dirt painting over a once again human form, caked under his blunt nails and hiding half of his ink… he almost seemed to be realizing all over again that he lacked that coarse coat of fur. But what had been revealed beneath it was the most unexpected, as he hadn’t seen his body toned, without the rib definition or jutting angled in a long time. Hesitantly, he tore what looked to be a suspicious and confused glare from his reflection and walked passed the folded or hung clothing and rummaged through it, frowning at all the fancy embroidery and soft silks that royalty would wear. The pair of pants he found were likely men’s lounge wear for lazy mornings, simple fabric and navy, near black in color, but he determined it was the only thing that might fit. The shirt he collected wouldn’t likely button down the front of his torso, but it would spare his shoulders some sun if they ended up traveling in daylight. Donning the first for her sake and tossing the second carelessly onto the fancy bed, he immediately made his way to the strangely idea shaving station and turned on the tap, watching the porcelain white dim black as he ran the water over the brand on his left palm. His right hand lifted with his gaze and he once again faced a smaller mirror to scratch his fingers through the thick scruff covering his jaw. As always, when Leo was nervous or uneasy, he was quiet, and hadn’t spoken a word since stepping into the bedroom.

Eleanor did follow after Leo, but not immediately. Time was needed to collect herself first, and clear away the signs of their dinner, tucking the cooking pot under the tarp and cooling the cacti embers. The greenhouse door was giving a lingering side-eye as she considered whether it was safe to leave it ajar or try to repair it now. The scent of the plants hiding therein still lingered around the entrance, but not enough that the spellrogue could justify putting her mask back on, much less rehanging the door right now. In the end, she made several mental notes to add reinforcing sigils to the frame to ward against a repeat performance. Leaving the courtyard as quiet as it had been when she arrived that evening, modest steps carried her deeper into the abandoned palace to trail after the wolf. His scent was the strongest, well, only one worth mentioning that still lingered in the halls, a mix of sweaty desert and a wolf running through the trees. Thankfully, it did not require a lot of arcana to pick up on the scent, and the woman recently-bruised lips twisted in a wry, albeit small smile. Making her way through the floors into the royal bedroom, once again, she was drawn to hang back, doing so just within the shadowed doorway. Her pale sea glass gaze stumbled around the once-extravagant sleeping quarters, wondering over the origin of the furniture's design just as much as whatever thoughts bounded around inside Leo's head. Remaining shrouded in the dusty silence of the entryway, she studied the wolf for a series of heartbeats before moving further within the room and coming up behind him. With her desert boots granting her a couple of inches, Eleanor appeared to have no issue viewing over his shoulder into the small mirror. Her crown was crooked, perhaps accidentally knocked askew in previously shared moments, and smirking, she lifted a hand to straighten it. Before El did, though, she found herself compelled to remove the iron wreath altogether, her other hand lifting to rake through her messy flaxen waves. "Ah cannae say we swatch th' part tae be hittin' any royal weddings again anytime suin," she at last delivered on a chuckled breath, shifting her sharp gaze upward toward her partner.

Leoxander granted her a better view of her reflection as he hunched over, collecting handfuls of water to scrub some of the dirt off his features and out of face-fur. As the black water draining became a bit clearer, he lifted his head just enough to look at the couple in the glass, toward her sea-green eyes first, witnessing the gem on her brow flicker brighter, which echoed to the rune on his chest with a faint glow of its own. After taking a pause to watch her fingers brush through unkempt layers of gold, he returned his stare forward with an exhale through his nose, but a flicker of blue caught his eye. Water dripping off his beard, he got his first good look at the mark she’d branded and touched it with his calloused fingers, another glance offered to the spellrogue as she spoke. His reply was a low grumble. “Not like we got time for fun, anyhow…” Recalling, after that heated and distracted moment for their reunion, that they still had problems on the horizon and work to do. Leo risked studying his own features once more, and even just barely rinsed, the difference, after so much time as a beast, was significant. Even with his grown hair in knots and his lower half masked in facial hair, it was his eyes that seemed brighter, not liquor swollen and underlined with lines of stress and untimely age. Dismissing what he could of what he was trying to comprehend, he wasted no more time collecting suds in both hands to lather the lower half of his face, somewhat shakily taking the straight razor in hand. “This yer work, too..?” He didn’t have the words to clearly explain what ‘this’ was, but it might just become more and more apparent for every draw of that very sharp edge, which would reveal the chiseled edges of his jaw as he flushed clumps of dirt dyed hair down the drain.

Eleanor had been too busy trying to commit Leo's face to memory all night to pick apart the differences from the last time she'd set her sights upon him. Just like she'd done that night, too, and the last time they met at The Office, and the time before, and the time before. But now, after Leo had promised to stay, El found herself studying his face in the ethereal suite's magic lighting with new eyes. At his question, the spellrogue's brows lifted in unison, and she soaked in the whole of his appearance, letting her gaze tumble slower over some parts but more analytical in others; every piece with equal appreciation. "Ah cannae say if Ah'm responsible," she started, her tone full of honest mischief. "But, Ah cannae say it's a bad swatch either." El withdrew, but just enough to circle around to the other side of him, letting her back press against the stone wall alongside the vanity as she crossed her arms and regarded her partner from a much-improved vantage point. "An' who says we dornt hae time fur fun?" The woman continued, cocking her head to one side. "We'll hae tae heed intae toon tae chase efter th' next lead anyway ... 'at is, if ye hink yoo're up fur it." Shrugging with a mix of nonchalance and affected coyness, El fought off a smirk. "Ah hud planned oan gonnae aloyn, weel ... fur obvioos reasons." As much as she'd have taken him everywhere, a hulking hybrid did not easily pass for human, least of all in close quarters. "But ..." The spellrogue's celadon twins lifted to seek out Leo's clearer blue pair. "Ah coods pure use ye oan this one."

Leoxander found his nerves settled in her presence, listening to the sound of her voice and sparing a sidelong look her way as she settled into a lean nearby. In a day and night, everything had changed, no only with his appearance and health but much of the frustration, anger, confusion and depression had diminished immensely. Of course, with Eleanor and Leoxander there were never certainties, never a distinct path, but he had come to a decision within himself as much as he’d spoken it out loud to her. Fate had it’s way, and everything happened for a reason, and here they were full circle while she watched him shave and hinted at her devious plans. A few more taps of blade against the porcelain and he was all the more human and less the wolf, though his distinct canines and that catch of light in his eyes at precise angles remained. “Gonna need some gear, either way. I ain’t exactly incognito wearin’ pink satin.” Yes, unfortunately the only shirt he could find without frills or decorative designs happened to be more lounge wear, in a muted rose and entirely too soft. He’d either look like a tourist or a psychopath, strolling into a town or city wearing that, but it would get him across the sands without cooking his back and shoulders into the color of her lips on a royal wedding heist. Carelessly grabbing a clean towel off the ring nearby, he left it stained as he wiped down his face, then his arms and chest a bit, his back still grungy until he could manage a proper bath. There was probably one somewhere in the castle, or the risk of the fountain outside, but there was good reason to be apprehensive of that thing considering it seemed to be the only water in the desert save the air filled pipes indoors. He started to take that towel to his hair, but stopped himself to pluck at some strands that had tangled into a near dread lock and shook his head with a sigh. “How long you think it’s been? I remember a few new moons. I mean, I started countin’ but a lot of days fell together. I never had any track of time before, when… when he took over.” It always a little awkward to speak as Dal’ken as a separate entity, but the closest he could compare it to was a split, second personality, with a mind entirely it’s own and the pirate a sleeping passenger.

Eleanor couldn't help the dry chuckle that tumbled forth. Not even the spellrogue could imagine herself wearing the rose hues, not without wearing another face, too, another shade of hair, another tint to her eyes. With so many masks to choose from, it was almost curious she never wore them around Leo. Well, she did — yet even after all these years, he seemed to have a way of seeing past them, getting under her skin until said masks were unceremoniously from her facade. "Weel, yoo're in luck," she quickly followed with. Pulling away from the vanity, and regrettably, Leo, she spun on a heel and gestured toward the royal wing's entryway. "Most o' th' duirs up haur ur still intact." She only paused to let the barbed joke hit for a heartbeat before letting her eyes soften, soaking in the edges of Leo's appearance once more. "Doesnae matter how many moons, only 'at it was tay many." There was a confessional edge to her tone, but as with anything complicated, the rogue did her best to shove it off and fix on something else. Like where exactly Leo was when he wasn't with her. Her tone was careful next, but otherwise neutral. "Whaur ... is everything?" Her left brow twitched, rising a few degrees as she rephrased her question. "When yoo're ready ... whaur dae Ah need tae tak' ye?"

Leoxander had the senses of a wolf. He could go blind from silver poisoning and still track that woman down through the taste and scent of her on the air, the precise sound of her heel or bootsteps, the flutter of cloak or draped cloth skimming her thighs and knees. Now, even more so, he could feel her presence, he could almost feel more than that, and he could only assume it had something to do with the magic she’d branded him with. Her jest brought forth a very distant memory of a lost bet and a gold spun dress, one that he would never share and hopefully not one she’d tapped into, even though he was not fully aware that she’d shared a few unfavorable visions. “Most likely... the ‘Roger’... But there’s a few stops along the way that’ll do. Can’t say I’ve got the coin but that won’t be a problem.” He answered in a low, unpleasant tone as somehow his mind trekked along the same path as hers, to those moments he was not with her, and then that led to the moments she was not with him. His own fault, but he recalled the confession to come before… all of this. Rubbing his face and over an eye as though this brushed it away and out of his head, he turned and walked toward the bed to pick up the shirt. Shrugging it onto a shoulder and shaking it out open over his front torso, to say Leo looked ridiculous would be an understatement. But it was hard to judge him a bum with his renewed physical appearance, despite the overgrown blonde. “Gonna be a long trip ‘til we get another horse.” It made him wonder how dangerous it would be to -try- to fit back into a wolf’s body, but it was far too soon. “We should head out before the sun’s up.”

Eleanor dipped her chin in a silent and somewhat thoughtful nod. "Ah can tak' ye reit tae th' Roger, 'at willnae be a problem," the spellrogue admitted to him. Her palm itched from the almost subconscious recollection of the portal spell inked therein. "But Ah cannae say th' same fur mah cuddie; it'll hae tae bide haur." Knowing that Leo might be at her side for the next venture made her all the more confident in its execution — yet, at the same time, there were tumultuous shadows that lurked in the mysteries of their plight. Their long claws raked like umbral portents across El's gaze for a heartbeat, blinked away as she pulled a wry smile to her lips. As the dregs of the mixed memories faded away again, the rogue ran her tongue along her lower lip, contemplating just how much to tell the wolf about her latest clue in their witch hunt or if it was better to wait. Her next words were back to their careful edge as if she balanced on a tightrope, and she lifted her crystal-clear seafoam twins to gauge and assess every nuance of Leo's reaction. "It works out thocht ...," her accent curled around the words with caution, "th' lead, it happens tae be in Rynvale."

Leoxander felt those words resound in his mind again; ‘Everything happens for a reason.’. Rynvale had been his turf once before and all of his heart and soul wanted it to be again. He knew the paths like the lines on his palm, branded and natural, some of which he had created. “Rynvale it is, then. Unless you got an easier way…” Yes, he suspected she might.” We got a day or two either direction to a ship.” Plenty of time for silence, or for yet unspoken words. He went to toss the towel aside but thought better of it, using it to wrap around his hand, for now, as a safe precaution. Dal’ken wasn’t the only unpredictable thing the rogue faced. After a pause, turning to face her in the bedroom that made him edgy, lingering too long, he nudged his head toward the door. “Sooner we leave, the sooner we find ‘em.” Tuna, and the oracle, too. And perhaps for just encouragement, fortification, or a reassurance, he almost smirked as he added, in a terrible accent, "Mo ghaol."

El didn't miss a thing, and her eyes darted, however briefly, toward Leo's Hellfire-branded hand, before fixing on the pirate's blue to her green. "If it's jist th' tois o' us, we dornt need a ship," she replied emphatically as her smirk returned enough to coax a dimple out in her right cheek. "Ah've been tryin' tae teel ye all nicht, but Ah suppose it's easier if Ah jist shaw ye now." She passed him as he spoke his lattermost words, and her boot hesitated, toes pressing into the stone flooring while she regarded the cheeky wolf. "Och aye," she breathed, the beginnings of a true smile lurking in the corner of her mouth. "Suin as." Continuing toward the door, the sparkle in her eyes returned en masse, and one digit at a time, she began to pull her right glove off for the second time that night. Once at the doorway, her left hand, still gloved, moved to close it, while her right stuff the discarded glove into her belt for momentary safekeeping. It had been quite a while since she'd had to draw upon the portal spell that swirled amidst her heart and health lines, and longer still since she had graced the interior of the Jolly Roger. Gods, what memories might they dredge up? She drew upon one in particular, and the smile she harbored shifted into a secretive curve, as if she enjoyed some inside joke. Meanwhile, the spellrogue exhaled a deep breath, and the runes inscribed in her palm began to light up in sequence, each activating quicker than the last, at which point the woman flexed her fingers experimentally, the magic's familiar sensation tingling along her skin. Looking toward Leo and nodding with intent, El gripped the knob of the now-closed bedroom door with her right hand, and when she pulled it back open once more, it did not reveal the abandoned castle hall beyond. Instead, the door opened right into the Jolly Roger itself from one of the backrooms, wherever there existed a door she had seen before — the castle bedroom on one side of the door, the warehouse bar magically on the other.

Leoxander watched her progress, and he was at least intelligent to know what she might do. He stepped right behind her and grasped her shoulder, with intentions of stopping her. “El, you-...” Instead of reminding her of her weakened magic, that she couldn’t expend it, his own rune on his chest in that open shirt began to glow, and he felt… some connection he had not experienced before. He almost felt… her magic, coursing through him as she grasped that handle. Leo was a bit star struck as the door opened, as if he’d shared whatever she’d sacrificed to him, but still retained it. “Rynvale it is…” He murmured quietly, keeping his hand there upon her. His gaze lifted to the doorway and he saw the familiar warehouse turned pub, broken and rebuilt and broken and rebuilt, again. Now, he felt, it had a chance, and so did they. He did something very unlike Leo, sliding his hand down her arm to grip hers, glanced toward his mo ghaol, and trusted her enough to step first into that portal.

Next: Enjoys: Long Walks on the Beach and Devising Dirty Deeds