Private The Lonely Heart is a Hunter

[Lucero]

"Let's go to Cornishcrest's Wine Festival," Syr Silas had prompted her earlier that month. He visited her every day he wasn't away to fulfil his Knightly duties. "We can visit the perfumer." Lucero pushed her bowl of half eaten corn mush away from her, the little bit of hunger she had shriveling up. Before, it would have meant she was excited. A day off and a trip to Cornishcrest, to smell perfumes and get drunk, maybe dance and talk too much to strangers, a chance for friendship and happy memories. Now it felt like Syr Silas was trying too hard.

Lucero wanted it to go back to normal, before Him. She had named the man Him, because it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. He was right, she would keep thinking about the pain, could remember her fear and then all the regret would come flooding in to drown her. Should've, could've would've - but would that have changed anything? Maybe. Sometimes she had daydreams of being victorious and unblemished, most of the time she had nightmares. At first, the nightmares had been about the pain he caused her which twisted to more inhumane and cruel torture fueled by the half-forgotten horror stories.

Now, her nightmares were worse in the violence. She hated Him for it, not for the initial fear and pain of it, but the aftershock of it, the feelings of wanting to hurt Him how he had hurt her. Lucero dreamt of it every night, being bigger than him, being stronger than him, no longer a woman but a force of nature that could not be harmed, could not be stopped, could not be forced to repeat things that didn't belong in her heart. He had turned her, a healer, into a killer. It was a good thing that Lucero couldn't look at herself in a mirror, she wouldn't have wanted to see what he had taken away from her.

"Cornishcrest is far away," Lucero sighed, turning her head away. She didn't like looking at his soul right now, seeing the guilt eat him up made her feel worse. It really was her fault, not his, she couldn't understand why Syr Silas liked to blame himself so much over it.

"But... you've always enjoyed going there. And the perfumer, you said it was your favorite place to be."

"It is." Lucero said simply, shrugging. "Which is why I don't want to go there while I feel like this."

"That's exactly why you should go," He insisted gently, unsure of how hard he should push. She turned to see the little balls of nervousness flitter around where his stomach would be. "You used to tell people all the time that if they went to their happy place they'd feel better."

𝓞𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷, 𝓐𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷.​

Lucero couldn't have stopped the bone chilling shiver even if she had tried. She always heard it in his voice, never her broken, crumpled-up tissue voice. It had been weeks. She was alive and well, the only scars hidden from everyone's sight. As a Knight, she should have recovered faster, been immune to the unfairness of the world. It was easier to comfort others who were hurting than herself. Her hand balled into a fist. She would prove his words wrong, it was time to be brave.

"Okay. Let's go to Cornishcrest."

[Art Cred]​

One of the first things she had asked was if she could get a dog. It had been offered to her, year after year. They had spoken to her about a dog since the moment she arrived to the Monastery. It would be practical, but she had refused. Lucero had decided instead to be a burden on her fellow knights, thinking it made all her successes that much greater. Having a seeing eye dog felt like failure, it tasted like defeat, the final nail in the coffin of her hopes of seeing again.

It would take time to have one train, and it would take even more time to train Lucero in having a constant pair of eyes for her. She had somehow gotten it into her mind that she wouldn't have been allowed to leave the Monastery unless she had passed the tests with Moose, a massive wolfhound with a shaggy coat. Of course, she had been too much in her head to ask and had instead assumed the worst. Another thing she blamed Him for.

This time it was not only her and Syr Silas, Yinka and Kaif joined them as well, which did make Lucero feel better, sitting in the back of the wagon with Yinka and her son while Silas led the horses down the road. Holding Kaif against her chest almost had her thinking that broken things could become whole again. When Yinka complained about Kaif being behind what other babies his age did, the hope went away. Maybe all she had done was made it worse, her weaving leaving a different mark on him than she had thought.

Still, it was nice that Yinka treated Lucero like a knight and not like some fragile porcelain doll the way Syr Silas did.

"Would you like for me to describe Cornishcrest for you, Syr Lucero?" Yinka always did her best to address properly, even if Lucero said she didn't mind it.

"I've had everyone tell me before." Lucero's lips curled up ever slightly. "Maybe you can tell me if they are liars or not? They told me all the buildings are made of white stone and outlined with warm wood. Their roofs should be red but they all look orange. A dismantled wizard's tower looms in the distant and in front of Cornishcrest is a fancy-enough fountain with a woman pouring out her pot with never ending water. Lots of green hills and pine trees, and on these hills are the grapevines of Cornishcrest Vineyard."

"My, such honest knights."

"It's a virtue," Syr Silas butted in.

"I bet it is, but, you know... they could have been a little more descriptive. An the festival makes everything different. There's triangle flags and round lanterns everywhere every color of the rainbow flying in the sky. That broken tower has a big sheet over it so it doesn't look broken. They've painted or... maybe sewn, I suppose, light green grapes and dark green grape leaves, a wooden barrel and a bottle of purple wine but in the sun it looks a bit red, it's beautiful that human hands could make such a thing. But I thought green grapes made white wine not red...." Yinka paused. "I'm sorry, you wouldn't know what this all looks like, would you?" During the heavy pause of silence, Lucero could hear them shift in the wagon, beginning to busy herself with Kaif who was so quiet he must have still been asleep.

"It's okay, I have an idea of what they're like." Lucero forced a smile. "Thank you." The silence didn't linger with Yinka choosing another topic, talking about the gossip in her village about the shepherd's wife getting entangled with the baker or the tannery catching on fire two towns over.

When they arrived at Cornishcrest, Silas went straight to the inn. It was his treat, he told Lucero, he'd pay for the room and board. He told her she'd have her own room, blaming it on Kaif so she can get a good night's rest. It wasn't a total lie, but Lucero saw enough of the fizzling translucent red bubbles to know that he wanted to be alone with Yinka, too. They would only stay for one night, the Festival lasted a whole week but they had arrived late in the week which meant the initial big crowd was already heading home with hangovers.

"Can we go to the market stalls, first?" Lucero asked once they all stood outside. Kaif was still asleep, she could hear Syr Silas fumbling to help tighten the baby sling around Yinka, fretting over if she had lost more weight. "I want to see if they have those bacon-wrapped sausages on a stick." Syr Silas had found it disgusting, pig on pig yuck you're clogging your arteries, but if he thought it were gross, he didn't say so. There were some upsides to his guilt, after all. Yinka took Lucero's hand, helping to lead her. She took the job very seriously, pointing out every step or uneven stone in the road. No one bumped into them with Syr Silas leading the front, keeping both women close to the buildings until they were at the market center. The moment they entered Lucero could smell the savory fatty bacon.

"That's one hell of a line," Now he sounded disgusted.

"Because it's delicious," Lucero was grinning. She could hear a band playing music, the trample of feet as people danced not too far away. "You just don't have good tastes, Syr. When it comes to food, I mean." She added quickly. Yinka squeezed her hand as the dancers gave a loud cheer once the merry song finished. It was enough to finally wake up Kaif who immediately began to cry. Yinka tried shushing him, letting go of Lucero's hand to pat his back in a steady rhythm, pacing about the two knights. Kaif's screams only got louder.

"He's probably hungry," Syr Silas murmured.

"I know, but it's so crowded here," Yinka mused.

"We can find a spot to sit down, somewhere in the shade and...." Lucero may not have been able to see but she could feel his eyes on her, could hear the edge in his voice.

"It's okay, Silas, I'll just go off by myself, you stay here with Syr Lucero."

"But...." Really, he wanted to go with Yinka, just as protective of her as he was with Lucero.

"You don't have to stay with me, just show me where the line starts and check in on me once Kaif is fed and well. It's a long line, right? I'll probably be stuck here awhile."

"Lucero," the edge in his voice was sharper despite how low he spoke.

"Syr, I'm in a busy market during a festival. If anything were to happen, which wouldn't because Cornishcrest is made up of a bunch of old coots who need canes, but if anything were, you'd know. There would be a big commotion, screaming,"Lucero gestured with her arms just how big that commotion would be. "Really, this time I'll be fine." A soft curve of her lips, brows raised up pleadingly. "This time is different, you know exactly where I'll be." It would be different. She didn't get knocked off a horse, wouldn't be alone in a mountain, what could really go wrong? Syr Silas, reluctant, must have thought the same, because once again, he went with Yinka and left Lucero alone in line.

 

[Rois Sinclair]

Festivals were stupid.

More oft than not they were excuses for people to indulge in something to the point of sin, wearing the guise of a tribute to whatever and whichever God was plucked from the histories. People did not need a reason to just do what their heart desired, it could just be done without any regard to surroundings or families… but the average soul lacked that strength. ‘I can get drunk today, because I’m at the festival!’ Just drink. ‘My wife hates it when I’m drunk, but today I’m allowed!’ Just drink. ‘Everyone else is doing it, so I get to do it too!’ Just drink. Bending to societal and social pressure was just so pathetic, it was not against the law to become cotton-headed and slurry-speached, everyone should just give in and be free and do what they wanted within the constraints of the law, just like he did…!

… Rois would not touch the stuff, however. He never had, being more unsound of mind only served to combat his own self-interest even before the beast within and its ever tenacious desire to see the world rid of flesh; any sort of loss of control made the man’s skin crawl in a measured sense of uneasiness for a multiple of reasons. So it was not the wine that drew him to the festival celebrating its existence, it was simply the fact that lively stalls were dappled in a plentiful variety of food to snap up, cooking on the road was satisfying enough and he did treat himself sometimes whilst travelling; but the ruckus and joy of the event brought forth the chance to indulge in different things. New things.

And for once the man was not so fancily dressed, donning a sleeveless plain tunic in black and grey pants fashioned in the manner in which one would commonly see in the scorching heart of Suldaza’s sand-lands; tight to the ankles but loose everywhere else, catching the fluttering breeze anytime it brushed against them. The bandages remained familiar. Blending into crowds rather than asking for their attention always served as the better option when off of work, but the adornment of his skull could not be helped. The caravan was three miles off-road to the south, they had not actually not known the festival was even occurring until drawing near enough to see the tacked up parchments announcing it… and thus the wandering butcher had decided to be nosey (and judgemental). Well, he had been nosey until discovering the food-stalls, now he was simply excited to try the gleaming array of food-stuffs spread out before his engaged form like a blessing truly sent from above.

The pastry stall owner had been surprised when coin had been shoved harshly against the royal purple cloth adorning his rustic table, I want one of every flavor. Round, crimped pastries smothered in the vibrant hues of jams, clementine, strawberry, blackberry, apricot, peach, lemon, oh, food on the road was stews and soups and meat-cuts, pastries and desert-aligned foodstuffs truly were a rare delicacy for those who so often tested their teeth against nought but the flesh of animals and people alike…! Rois had to actively try to be delicate in his eating (nibbling), but the sweetness, the tanginess, the texture of something so soft and cool against a flakey core, the more the man munched the more weak-willed he became (now chomping) and the quicker he shoved partially chewed snacks down his throat. Heaven did exist within that cruel, cruel world. Licking fingers like a dog desperate for every single molecule of the morsels to be stolen away by an eager tongue, red eyes had settled with seriousness upon the seller, again.

All of them, again? The bewildered baker stood dumbfounded before the large man and his seemingly bottomless pit of a stomach, having not expected Rois to eat them all six right there on the spot-- and in a hurried response the red-head used one of those moist fingers to encircle the entire selection, yes, every single one… again.

“Are you sure--”

“Don’t toy with me.”

Sugar was serious business. It was no pleasure of the common man. Beloved sweet things, the freshness of seedless strawberry against his teeth, the boldness of lemons bite, blackberries heavy richness…! All of it against crumbling gold…! The butcher had been so busy scarfing down the new round of gooey treats with the voracity of a hound starved that there was no attention given to the arrival of the lady knight and her entourage, mind consumed by the pleasure of having one’s mouth wholly enraptured with what tasted like pure ecstasy-- but when the last one had disappeared down his gullet he took a reprieve to think, I’ll taste something else, then come back and try them all again-- the experience will be greater, savory than sweet! An internal plan externally backed by the baker the moment Rois looked away from his carefully presented products, for now the table looked a quarter more empty than it had before, money was always great but so was the faces of more than just one person devouring his entire stock… none would know his name and mastery if this giant beast of a man kept taking it all for himself!

A finger was rudely and suddenly jabbed in the pastry chefs direction-- I will be back-- and off the elated half-man went to haunt the stalls across the warm bricks of the market’s heart… but he did not make it far. A glance, a pause, walking backwards two steps, surely that wasn’t…

… Her?

Rois had forgotten that he couldn’t be spied by the knight beyond for a moment, the purpose for his slow retreat away from the direction unseeing eyes were pointing. It was her, all fixed up and sparkling new, tailing a serpentine line of hungry customers lured by the smell of crackling meat. Of all the people, of all the places, the butcher’s gaze flickered to what appeared to be knotted bread oozing with warm chocolate and back to Lucero’s unknowing back, Gods! Pleasure and fun wrapped up in a single experience, truly the best way to spend a hard earned day off…! ‘Fun’ is but the mask worn by torment in the moment, for those ruby eyes are glittering with a horrid sort of mischievousness as the man stalks up behind Lucero as casually as he’d seek to merely spook a friend… the woman’s blindness meant she could not see the way his shadow swallows her up upon the spot.

He has to bend down a touch. Hands caught amidst coin-jingling pockets Rois, puppyish, lays his throat innocently against her shoulder and lets his heavy head rest there sweetly, turned against a neck kissed by auburn hair. There is conflict. His words are sweet with jam, but the fangs framing such words cause the tip of one to pluck gently against Lucero’s skin…

“Hello, Miss messiah.” Deeply, cheerfully, her shoulder thrums beneath the strength of shifting vocal chords. “I didn’t expect to ever see you again…”