Mephisto Valse
Legacy Name: Mephisto Valse

***

His time was up.

He hadn't intended for her to watch him go; then she could be mad at him. Fur Elise, this beautiful Glacier Jollin lying sprawled out in bed, the moonlight catching in her icy hair. His lovely Elise, his muse. As much as he hated to leave, he had to. He had to for her. And if he didn't know why, it would be better. She could think him a traitor, a cheater, whatever. He wanted her to hate him.

He didn't want her to mourn for him.

But of course, his luck being what it was, she woke as he stuffed what little possessions he thought he could carry into a suitcase. "Baby," she yawned. "What are you doing?"

He sighed and turned to face her, but couldn't even get a word out before she gasped in horror. She'd seen the Mark. Before now, it had been easy enough to just pass it off as a nice, tasteful tribal tattoo upon his right cheek. But it was a brand, and it marked him as property... his property. And the brand had begun to glow.

***

When he was very young and hadn't yet seen much of the world, Valse wasted most of his money buying countless records. His collection lined an entire wall of his bedroom and then some. He so admired musicians of virtually every genre, and had a pipe dream of joining their ranks. But it was an impossibility for him. Even at this age he was suffering from early onset arthritis. His paws would never move the way he needed to play an instrument. And, well, he was never much for singing either.

And one night at the cafe, he met a man all dressed in black. The man had been watching Valse as he enjoyed the night's live band, and it made him a bit wary. But when the music was all done, that man approached Valse and said, "Now there's a true music-lover if I've ever seen one." He offered to buy Valse a drink, and Valse foolishly accepted.

"Do you play?" asked the man after a couple rounds were done.

Valse chuckled. "No, no. I'd love to, but..." He held out his paws before him, sore and useless. "These don't work very well."

And the man had smiled at him then, so politely and serenely. "I could fix that for you," he said. "At a price."

And though incredulous at the time, Valse was just drunk enough to go along with it.

***

So he'd become world-famous. He'd learned the guitar, the violin, the bass and the cello. He toured backing multiple bands, with orchestras, and solo. It had brought him wealth. It had brought him the love of his wife in the young virtuoso pianist Elise. It brought him the best years of his life.

The man had told him, way back when, "This mark of mine will stay black as pitch until the day you have to pay me. And then it will glow bright like fire, and you will know you have just enough time to get your affairs in order. And then I will come."

But Valse, he wasn't ready to go.

"Val, what's happening to your face?" Elise whispered, clutching at the sheets.

"Don't worry about it, doll," he said. He slid up beside her and kissed her cheek. "Don't you worry about me. I gotta go, and I'm sorry, but... it's not safe for you to be around me anymore."

"I don't understand," said Elise. She clung to him when he tried to go. "Can't we talk about this? Are you in trouble? We can call the cops..."

He wrenched himself free and gave her a stern, hard look that cut off her pleas and made her recoil. It rended his heart to see her like that, and he sunk. "It's not that simple," he said. He grabbed up his things, and he made for the door. "I love you... and don't you come looking for me."

***

He'd stayed with Red for a couple nights. A nice girl with a nice enough bunch of pets, though he wondered about the Feli a bit. When Red had gleefully offered him a place to stay for good, that was when he panicked and fled. There was nothing to take; everything he'd owned was long gone.

The Montre of the house, Ferrian, he chased him down. They met in a field outside of town, where Valse slowed and hung his head. He'd seen the glow in Ferrian's eyes. He knew what he was. "You're not taking me without a fight, Hellhound."

"Believe me," said Ferrian. He came up beside Valse and sat. "I know what it is to run from the Devil. It's it's own kind of Hell." He rested a paw on Valse's shoulder. "Stay with us. You can stay. And we can look out for each other."

But Valse shook his head. "No, you don't understand." He brushed Ferrian's paw away, only to look him straight in the eyes. "Every place I've stayed too long has burned to the ground." Even Ferrian seemed surprised by this, but Valse was all to used to it now. If he wanted to stay alive and keep his soul as long as he could... he had to keep on the run.

"Best of luck to you, Hellhound," said Valse with a little salute. "Folks like us... we need it."

***

Update: The Devil's curse has spread across his whole body. Fortunately there are some others around here who are marked like this; it doesn't make him stand out too much. The tattoo itself has gone back to black, amusingly. Valse is constantly surprised that things don't burst into flame at his touch.

***

Set out runnin', but I take my time
A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine