He picks his way through the sands, the insufferable heat disorting the stale desert air. He's been confined to the Oasis entirely too long, his eye being left to rot and his mind being left to fester. But the open sands are a different kind of hell—the red-boiled heat beats down on him with a burning vehemence, and there's nothing but an endless vesture of gold all around him. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Eric since he left him with that pink girl.

Meet me in the badlands. He did say badlands, right? Or did he get himself lost for nothing?

He looks up at the hyaline sweep of sky, and it looks back indifferently. A distinct loneliness nests within him. Did Eric even make it out? Did Uma? He begins to work his vocal cords, sending out a long series off chuff into the suffocating silence.

Find me.

@Eric, @Uma, @Cirilla

CODE BY LARS, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Eric Eric had seriously considered not coming. Not because he was angry or anything like that. But simply because he couldn’t face @Ambrose after Elswyth had wiped the floor with him. All he wanted to do was to hide under a rock. A big rock, a GIANT rock, the hugest rock he could find. And somehow, he found himself here. His paws had moved almost out of their own accord. Until he saw the wisps of ice-cream colored mane swaying in the wind. “Ambrose!” He’s running now, huffing and puffing all the way until he can try and tackle his little brother into a horizontal hug. “You don’t know just how happy I am to see your ugly mug.” Eric tries to rustle the younger lion’s mane, but it seems that all the girl trouble talk will have to wait. For when he looks up, he notices a distinctly warthog shaped outline with a question mark in the middle of it. “Where’s Uma?” A beat, a sudden tension. “DON’T TELL ME SHE SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE CHALLENGE?!” Lazy, lazy Uma! "Speech" Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

The difference in prides had become an issue for Cirilla. She had found it difficult to place where @Uma and @Ambrose had gone to since the change in leadership the Oasis had seen. The tan lioness had grown to miss her mate (or were they husband and wife, now?), and the distance between them had been agonizing. Why had she not sought him out? The woman was angry with herself.

When the call came, the Sigrún froze. Ambrose. She whispers, his name slipping from her lips and causing her stomach to knot into a ball. She frowned, and then made her way from the Brook out to the badlands to greet him.

But when she was arrived, Cirilla was not expecting to see the lion being tackled by another. She stands on the edge, face solemn with little expression. The only annoyance and mild anger could be seen through the twitching of her tail. What is this? She thinks, looking to @Eric as her eyes burn into the back of the idiot's head.

She follows her brother's trail, lethargic. A grimace like a half-snarl is frozen on her face, her errant thoughts bearing down on her as heavily as the heat. The godforsaken heat. She's tired of it, the sand and the heat and the goddamn scorpions— slithering and scuttering and pretending to be her— what? Ally? Friend? A demented notion. Yet, when she reaches the gathering, finding herself the last to arrive, inexpicably, it feels like a balm to the wound Zelda left.

It feels like coming home.

But she tucks the feeling away. She's only a shadow of the lioness she was before, her loss of muscle and lack of fat painfully evident. The others have changed, too, and it feels like eons since she's last seen them, eons since she last stepped toe outside the confines of her makeshift prison den. @Ambrose has changed most notably of all, and the sight his— mauled?— eye sends a twist of anger slamming into her gut.

"Was having a nice dream. Sue me."

Comes the retort to @Eric at last as she slinks alongside @Cirilla. Never mind that she'd scarcely shut an eye at any time during the last couple of months, or that a living nightmare had been more akin to it. That was for her to know, and no one else. "The pale moron's with us." She indicates Eric with a vague nod, picking up on the brown lioness' understandable confusion. Then, understanding it's a bit of a broad term, considering the company they're keeping: "The slightly darker pale moron, I mean. Don't think I have to introduce you to the other one." Even as she speaks, those mad dog eyes linger on Cirilla (or is it Zelda?— she isn't sure now). There is something almost quizzical about her expression, the deviation from her usual veneer of neutrality a surefire indication of her deteriorated mental state. She's vaguely aware of this, but she doesn't care. Heat and time spent alone will do that to anybody, she supposes.

"And you."

Scorpions, slithering and scuttering and pretending. Best to eat them before they sting.

"Where were you?"

image to jazzyblu + code to pine

@Eric's familiar voice forges across the badlands and he perks up, his heart soaring at the sight of him. The familiar palomino breaks into a run, making a beeline for him. "Eric!" His name has barely left his lips when he's tackled, his legs almost buckling beneath him. Things don't exactly feel complete without him, not anymore. His mane his tousled rather unmercifully, and he tries to exact his revenge by ruffling Eric's mane in turn. "C'mere, you big idiot!" A chuckle crowds to his lips, taking another good gander at his closest friend, as if to confirm he's really here.

They finally made it out the other side.

Then @Cirilla arrives, and he feels his breath hitching at the sight of her—more divine than he remembers her, implacable like the sea. Even now, she's staring at the back of Eric's head as if she's hoping it'll turn him to cinders, visibly disgruntled by the supposed intrusion.

@Uma sidles up to Cirilla and pointedly answers Eric's question, respectively dubbing them pale moron and slightly darker pale moron. He can live with that. He might even go so far as to say he missed her petty insults. "No one has told me I'm a moron in the last few months, so thank you for fixing the quota, Uma." Ambrose can only imagine what she went through in that armpit of the desert, but now isn't the time to ask. He can hardly believe it; they're all together again. Not unscathed, but together. "We all alive? Roll call?"

CODE BY LARS, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Eric It is a beautiful moment, their long-awaited reunion… And then she ruins it. No, not @Uma, you dork! The other one. “I thought you’d finally come to your senses about my amazing plan and gone to fetch an elephant”. It would’ve certainly spiced up the challenge, that last part was a bit of a snoozer. He chuckles lightly, a smile touching his eyes. The words have barely left his lips when he notices @Ambrose tensing beneath him. Eric expects the worst. But when he turns it is not Scorpius and his little posse or the new Andalian queen (I mean, did they really think she was going to let this piece of ass get away?) standing before them, but a girl. A really roughed up girl, but a girl nonetheless. It takes little time for him to connect the dots, especially with the jealous glare she’s sending at him. And he invented the bated breath thing for gods’ sake! He opens his mouth to say something but Uma’s already introducing him as “the pale moron”. How awfully kind of her. Eric untangles from his best friend and grins lopsidedly at @Cirilla. “Let me guess, you’re the girlfriend,” He stretches out his paw in an unusually courteous greeting, alongside a flash of teeth, as his smile turns into a smirk, “Zelda, right?” Ah geez, let’s hope the scars are just for show. Or we’re going to be marking someone absent during next period. "Speech" Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

Cirilla remains frozen to her spot at the edge of the badlands, watching as @Ambrose and @Eric appear to have some sort of love-affair going on. The tan lioness had never really experienced jealousy before, but the pin-pricking sensation she felt upon her pelt as she watched, combined with the anger bubbling quietly in her stomach, suggested to her that this was the green-eyed monster.

She was quick to be distracted, though, as @Uma comes up to her side. Cirilla looks at the ivory lioness, scanning her body for any sign of injury or loss of limb. Other than malnourishment, and the woman looking like a shadow of her former self, there were no apparent injury that she would have sustained. Cirilla can relax a little, knowing that two of the most important lions in her life had not been injured as a result of her actions.

Though her words --

And you. Where were you?

-- cut through Cirilla like a knife. She is a little taken aback at them, as her rosé eyes snap to the woman without a sound. Cirilla felt defensive, like a wall needed to be raised, but Uma had a fair point. Where had she been, to rescue them? She hadn't. The lioness hadn't even looked for her daughter, who had been in the Oasis, so guilt was right to hang from her shoulders. I couldn't find a way into Andal. Cirilla replies, her words no more than a whisper. She didn't have a real reason, nor an excuse... she had avoided the sandy plains at her own selfishness, simply because she did not want to be injured again.

Eyes shift back to Ambrose as he speaks, and she feels herself tighten. Had he told Uma and Eric about their relationship? She couldn't tell, but the tension in his body suggested that he hadn't yet. Perhaps today would be the day.

-- or not, as Eric speaks so flippantly. And then he says something he perhaps shouldn't.

"Zelda, right?"

There is a flurry of emotion that overcomes Cirilla. Jealousy, anger, confusion, annoyance. They all bubble to the surface as the tan lioness stands, her claws flexing in and out of the loose ground beneath her paws. Her solemn expression goes blank as the red-rimmed glasses overcome her vision. Without a single utterance, the woman walks with patience and ease over to the paler form of Eric. He is much taller than her, but this does not stop the Sigrún as she stops in front of him. She can see her breath on his fur as it moves with each exhale, anger beginning to bubble over. She raises her right paw and, without permission or thought, grabs Eric by the neck and squeezes. Cirilla. Cirilla Sigrún. She spits, pushing him away from her with all her strength, not caring if her claws ripped his skin. She holds his gaze for a moment longer, before moving to Ambrose. Who the fuck is Zelda? Cirilla spits, her paw raising and now holding his shoulder.

There is no indication she registers her brother's retort, not even the barest hint of a smile. Her attention is with a certain lioness. Somewhere, Eric discusses some plan involving an elephant. In this case, 'elephant' does not appear to be code for 'Uma', and even if it is, the words ring meaningless, swallowed up by Ciri's voice. Part of her understands. Part of her is aware, fully well, that even if she could have found a way in, stepping foot back into the desert would have been to court danger, perhaps death. She understands selfishness, or, at least, thought she did. But when it comes from Cirilla, why does it feel like a fresh snarl of pain knifing directly into her heart?

"Always a way." Her voice has fallen to a breath. Being unreasonable, and infantine, she knows, and yet she doesn't care. Eric again, and this time the words come to her perfectly clear. That name. The culprit behind it all. If only she had never closed her eyes to the blatant signs. If only she had never compromised on what she'd known to be true. She'd known, goddamnit. Suddenly the woman beside her is on the move, and it isn't so much the impending scuffle that grabs her attention as what she says. Cirilla. Cirilla Sigrún.

Indeed, Cirilla is not her. God, she hopes not. She hadn't trusted Zelda from the start, but her instinct had been to trust Cirilla, hadn't it? And what was she to rely on if not her instinct? She shifts her stance, the unpleasant feeling of hot sand beneath her paws unwelcome, but inescapable all the same. She swipes a paw across her face. The heat of the sun feels like a physical weight on her back, and she feels unsteady. "Oh, brother." She croaks in exasperation, both in acknowledgment of her questionable sanity and in response to the quickly deteriorating scene before her.

image to jazzyblu + code to pine

@Eric addresses Cirilla the way he addresses everyone; familiarly and conversationally, maybe too much so. He knows she isn't one to admit a stranger in her midst so easily, especially lions of the female variation. The Sigrún has followed the entire interaction with marked impatience, her mood growing blacker by the second.

He realizes he hasn't had a chance to tell her about his friend yet; the lion who risked life and limb to check on him. He's a keeper, but a platonic keeper. Just when he's about to introduce Eric, the aforementioned opens his mouth. Zelda, he says. His face goes blank with arrant horror, his mind scrambling to identify the name—one he hasn't heard in months.

Did Eric really just mix up the two? He supposes both names do happen to end in a vowel. "Ciri? You've got that murderous look in your eyes again." She stalks over to Eric, her initial annoyance quickly ripening into full-blooded fury as she endeavors to seize him by the neck. "Hey—come on!" First Uma chokes the life out of his best friend, and now @Cirilla? Is this some kind of screwed up rite of passage between the two?

Then she stalks over towards him—and how many times has he seen those beautiful pink eyes flashing with fury? "Cirilla—it's not what you think, all right? We were just partners! Were." The more he talks, the less believable it sounds. "I wasn't thinking anything dirty, please don't kill me. I like my insides on the inside, okay?" Yes, yes he was. But in his defense, that was before things got serious with the ferocious woman standing before him.

CODE BY LARS, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Eric The lilt of his voice falls on dead ears, the quirk of his lip is thrown under the rug. Oh, Eric. When are you going to learn you’ll never make it as a comedian? Apparently the witty banter is an exclusively male thing, as, when @Cirilla makes her approach, the palomino lions gets flashbacks to his first meeting with Uma. Something about Ambrose seemed to make all the woman in his life go mental. Or, at least, physically violent. Eric meets her eyes, his own darkening beneath a furrowed brow as he realizes her less-than-friendly intentions. He tries his best to not flinch at her sudden grasp, at the piercing of claws on the tender flesh of his neck, though his face twists in a grimace and his bright teal irises flash with a moment of real fear. When Cirilla releases, pushing him away, he finally breaths again, wheezing on the new influx of oxygen to his brain. Eric falls over on his side like an idiot, a scrambling child. “I’m fine,” he looks at @Ambrose, whose attempts on protecting him have fallen on deaf ears. Eric stands, just as the scarred woman turns her attention towards the boy, his best friend who looked like shit and had barely just recovered from his wounds. “Hey!” The palomino lion comes to Ambrose’s side as Cirilla’s claws sink into his shoulder. Tiny snakes of blood slither down towards his chest. “Look, it was just a stupid joke. if you gotta take it out on someone, Take it out on me.” His eyes flash to @Uma for support. He knows she’s not his biggest fan either, but she’s shown that she’ll protect Ambrose to the death if necessary. Surely, that makes them sort of like family…right? "Speech" Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)