She was so accustomed to being busy that the sudden free time was an unwelcome surprise.

The shadow-mare harbored no hard feelings towards her captor, the giant snake. He himself had admitted that he hadn't a reason to bring her here, other than to follow the orders of the sultans. And she wasn't one to enter into a losing battle, as any fight with an oversized serpent was sure to be. One look at him assured the viewer that his massive coils could crush the bones of any mortal being in mere seconds, and that was without even taking into account the hypnotic quality of those poisonous green eyes. She wondered if it was an inherent trait, or if it was magic - if it were the former, perhaps she could persuade him to teach her how to use her own malicious orbs that way. Regardless, he was not a skyrat, like those sultans that he answered to; nor was he a hornless vermin, fit for naught but slavery. No, he was a creature all his own, and had gained a certain respect from the dark fae. After all, given his druthers, he had made it perfectly clear that he would stay out of their business.

She wondered what kind of alliance the sultans must have made with the serpent, to have him doing their dirty work for them. She snorted, disgust and anger evident. How dare they send a serpentine servant to take her? Did they fear her so much that they would not approach her, in which case they were simply horrible leaders? Or did they underestimate her so much that they refused to sully themselves to take her, in which case they were simply ignorant? It made her furious, the way her mind wound in circles, revisiting the same thoughts over and over, unable to break the vicious cycle of vehemence. What she wouldn't give to give them all a piece of her mind! And she would, one day, for suddenly the Throat and its inhabitants had leaped to the top of her shit list, sitting amicably with the Edge in her quest for vengeance.

A familiar scent caught and held in her nostrils, and she swung her maw towards the source. The silver-marked, scarred unicorn stood on the other side of the lake - the oasis, she amended with a sneer - and, as Psyche watched, plunged her cranium into the cool liquid. The shadow-mare wondered how long Elizabeth had gone without water, how long she had been held prisoner here. Had they been taken at the same time? By the same wretched snake? She set off in a confident trot, pistons seeming to claim the ground that they marked with deep scores of prints, acting as though she owned the place. Well, she would, one day. They wouldn't get away with stealing the Crux and one of her beloved Corporals. As angry as the jackal was that her cohort had managed to get herself captured, she was relieved that she was not alone. Surely the pair of them would be more than capable of escape.

"Lovely to see you again, darling," she greeted the taller fae upon arrival. Elizabeth looked none the worse for wear, another blessing. And in truth, the jackal preferred this mare over the majority of her kinfolk. Being stuck here with, say, Deimos, with his death-magic and silence, would have been unbearable; or Valentine, who pined after her like a lovesick colt, might have driven her mad, for the facade that she had chosen to portray would have to have been upheld even here. Oh, the messes she got herself into. "I do hope that our hosts are treating you well?" The words were spat with venom, hatred sparking in her eyes. Elizabeth would understand, of that she was sure. They were two peas in a pod, the pair of them. The Throat had certainly picked the wrong mares to throw together.

[W/C | 661]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

The shadow-mare had replayed the events of her capture repeatedly. She could see no way that she could have avoided the grasp of the snake, and yet she felt that she ought to have. It was impossible to break one's mind from the hold of hypnosis, and yet she should have. The disappointment in Elizabeth's voice reiterated these things to her, and she felt the emotion mirrored in herself. If she could not keep herself from being stolen away, how could she protect her kin? To them she had a responsibility, one that she could not do from an inferior herdland, trapped by these featherbrained imbeciles. For the first time in her life, she felt well and truly trapped. Caged. She did not like the feeling. She would have to figure out a way to get both of them out of here, to prove that she were not utterly useless.

And they would, but first, she would have to address the silver-marked fae's qualms. Her response to the jackal's rather sarcastic question was no surprise, and, as expected, reflected her own feelings. Her skin was crawling to think that she shared the same space with such impurity, such inferiority. It was disgusting. She felt as though it was sinking into her pores, lodging itself into her bodice, as though she would never be free from it. But such thoughts had no place now, as they were attempting to plan, to lay in wait and watch for their chance. Perhaps it would not be today, or tomorrow, but a time would arrive when the dark pair would be beckoned to freedom, despite the protests of the so-called sultans of this wretched land.

"... cannot be held together when the heart is taken." Her words resonated within the shadow-mare, and irrevocably bonded her to her once-frenemy, this scarred, ambitious mare who was so like herself. A stronger allegiance could not be declared than to admit Psyche's central rank amongst their group, and in that moment there was a realignment of alliances in her mind. Perhaps Elizabeth could be trusted, after all. Her vocals were almost searching, as though looking to Psyche for guidance. And the Crux would not disappoint her again. "Darling, I fear you are forgetting the strength of our allies." Her tone was almost soothing, a surprising tone from the dark fae's maw. "All is not lost. They have the good doctor to guide them yet, his nurse, and others that are fully capable."

She spoke of d'Artagnan, Kou, Deimos, those that had been long-standing members of both the Plague and the World's Edge prior to their exile. These she could mention in safety, with outlying ears assuming they spoke of the herd, not a secret society. The Plague, she dared not speak of. There was too much at stake to risk the rumors that would come of such discussion. It was imperative that all remained secret. Elizabeth would understand that, she knew this to be so. She hoped that her words would calm the scarred mare's racing thoughts. "And besides, you don't expect to be here so very long, do you?" A too-sweet smile graced her lips. They would bide their time, and then, they would run.

[W/C | 537]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

Elizabeth's fury was palpable. The taste of it was a bitter tang on the jackal's tongue, an irrevocable presence in her shadowed mind, a poison flowing through her veins. It was her strength, and it was her passion. Their fury mixed in the air between them, mingling in the merging winds drifting between them, carried back and forth as though in waves, crashing into and out of and around and within. It was intoxicating. It was dangerous. It was everything they needed to escape. Everything except a plan. And in this, their fury was also their kryptonite; should they follow the passion pumped from their hearts rather than the logic flowing from their minds, they would find themselves failures, trapped interminably within the gods-forsaken desert.

How strange it was to adjust to this odd climate. The barren wasteland of the Steppe had been a blessing in comparison. Beneath the snow, there had been solid ground, and one became used to the cold after a while. If nothing else, it inspired bonding between herd members as they huddled for warmth, worked together to find food. There was water everywhere; one simply had to scoop up a mouthful of snow and then, lo and behold, parched throat was quenched. But here, here, there was nothing. No solid ground, simply sand that shifted constantly under their hooves, churning and throwing one so unused to it off balance. Here, there was no water, save the tainted liquid from which the impure drank. This, truly, was hell.

"I will sit back long enough to learn their secrets." There, there was the logic which they needed so desperately. Perhaps if they were simply silent, and untroublesome, the Throat would drop its guard and they could be on their way. But then it wasn't in their nature to be silent, now, was it? Oh no, they would favor sarcasm and flaring outbursts over silence and quiet deference. Such was their characters. Perhaps alone, separated, the shadow-mare could overcome her brash tendencies, as she had done upon her arrival; but with another so similar to her own persona, such a task would prove impossible. And so it remained: how were they to escape? A memory flared, briefly, and then was tucked away again. It was an idea, but she would discuss it later, perhaps during the night, when there were no listening ears or prying eyes.

"So we will, darling," she crooned with a voice full of the venom that had always been present, but oddly comforting in the lonely landscape. "We will not fall. We will rise. And when we do, we will crush them all."

[W/C | 439]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

If it were possible for the Dark Empress to be touched by heartfelt pledges of allegiance, she would have been by this one. It was an odd moment; for two faes that had shared so many tense feelings upon first meeting, they were quickly growing into a pair that would become unmatched in terms of power and ambition. Her words were almost an oath, and had many meetings. The flame of the unicorn race, the flame of the Basin herd, the flame of the Plague, the flame of their partnership. There was simply so much to consider, so many different things contained in those simple words. The shadow-mare sought and held Elizabeth's gaze, accepting her words, not needing to respond.

There was mutual respect and, perhaps, even a strange level of affection between the two, having been through a great deal together in such a short time. It was with this in mind that she sought to calm Elizabeth. She understood the mare's fury, understood perfectly the desire to sink her horn into the flesh of the dirty beings, the lust for revenge against those who would dare take them from their rightful home, not once, but twice. There was a familiar look in the silver-maned femme's orbs, a look of reliving memories, of remembering the sights, the sounds, the tastes. Sure enough, her words reflected her memories: "I miss the taste of blood."

"As do I," she agreed simply, her own mind fading into memories. She remembered flames. She remembered her mother's body burning before her eyes. She remembered the tortured shrieks of fear and pain as she watched the pelt evaporate, the skin wither, the eyes melt. She remembered the smell of charred flesh. She remembered piles of bodies, vaguely; but none stood out save her traitorous mother. She had left, and returned to her death. Suddenly the shadow-mare was struck with an odd sense of deja vu. The jackal herself had left; had she now returned to her death? No. She drew herself up, matching Elizabeth's stature perfectly, if lacking in height. I will conquer them. I will not end up like her. Like them. "We are destined for greatness, my dear. Patience. When they least expect, we will strike."

[W/C | ---]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

"I wonder, darling, if we can make use of the information that I have gleaned thus far during our lovely stay." The words were said thoughtfully, mind racing. What a mistake they had made, to steal the pair of unicorns and allow them to spend time together, talking, listening, plotting. What a mistake to think that they would not make use of each other. This mistake would be one that they would take advantage of, one that they would use to their advantage. And they had given her more than one gift, this gift of her loyal Corporal. They had given her a taste of their leadership, a leadership that seemed plagued by a distinct lack of unity. They had given her a view of the unease that they felt with her captor.

She would use their mistakes.

"The leaders do not seem to be on one another's side," the shadow-mare divulged, "and I wonder if we could use their differences to sow discord." A long shot, perhaps, but an idea. A direction. Elizabeth wanted to create havoc, to cause mayhem. Well, they would do just that, indeed, but now they had a direction. And that was all they needed, really. The silver-touched swung her head gently in the jackal's direction, an almost playful tap lacking any true intention. It was allowed, a hit taken on the shoulder. The beginnings of something. Elizabeth needed this release and so she would take the lead now; but the Empress would follow, loyalty returned.

[W/C | ---]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.

"As I will you, Elizabeth." It had been a long time since such seriousness had been present in the shadow-mare's vocals, if she had ever had such a tone. There was a bond forged between prisoners, one that she had never had the chance to make before. She felt a kinship for the silvered mare, the one that she had been so wary of at their first meeting, the one that she had clashed so horribly with. She would live or she would die with the fae; should they go into battle, she knew that she had a comrade who would have her back, for better or for worse. Better, the unrestricted, unabashed racism of the taller mare was acting as a balance: the jackal was learning temperance, being forced to reign in the fury that was Elizabeth.

A more perfect pair had never been made.

So what now? Sure, she had planted the seed of an idea, but how to properly utilize the information? How could they sow the most discord, cause the most chaos? How would they ensure that they would not be followed, when they escaped? For they would invariably run, they would without a doubt break the line of defenders. The jackal's mind wandered to Elizabeth's captor: who had brought her here? She had plans for the Snake, of course, provided that she got the chance to implement them. "Who brought you here?" she asked suddenly, distracted. Could she use the information to form a plan?

[W/C | ---]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.