Welcome to Gaia! ::

There was a dismissive wave of her hand as she moved to take her sword. Shaking charred earthen remains off it with a petulant frown, she put the sword back in a scabbard. It wasn't that she didn't hear or understand the meaning of his words, just that the concern for her well-being seemed relatively trivial. His mind was already soaring away with those damned gray limbs to a distant locating, scurrying like a scared mouse. Why ask if she would be fine by herself? If she had said no would he have carried on with a pretense of concern and a sudden desire to change his course of action? It was unlikely.

Stuffing the weapon into her scabbard with visible irritation, she turned back towards him. The violet hue of her eyes abruptly changed to a saturated jeweled crimson. Putting a hand on her hip and raising a brow, she had clearly taken offense to something he had said. Wings twitched even before she started speaking, tiny flecks of peeling skin and a few errant feathers dusting the ground.

"I tried to stay my tongue out of gratitude for your assistance with that haphazardly thrown knife's wound, but for someone who lacks demonic heritage you certainly share some of the 'virtues.' I'd appreciate leaving out arrogant assumptions of my person in attempts to validate your cowardice. And before you try to repute that it is, in fact, cowardice and instead something more noble like 'a reasonable to desire to live' I might note that being continuously chased and hunted, looking over your back and fearing for your life is hardly 'living.' It is existing only in the basest interpretation. It might seem to you that there is only one path to be taken at this juncture at your life and you are merely a victim of your circumstances, but you shan't fool me with such pitiful perceptions. Many a fine warrior has emerged from moments where they decide that fear has ruled their life for far too long and that they will not stand to lay in the shadows of seemingly insurmountable odds."

As if realizing that her eyes had changed color during her impassioned speech, she abruptly stopped. It was not out of consideration for his feelings, but rather out of consideration for her own. Kane had come to the sudden realization that rather than view his problems objectively, she had interjected her own life experiences into the equation. The lecture, while perhaps deserved, had traveled too close to home for her to feel any desire to continue. A scathing look was undoubtedly coming any moment and perhaps an attempt on her life for the brutally honest perspective, but she had no regrets.

"Regardless of whether or not you wish for my assistance, you may find you have it. I do not take slights well, and my reputation demands a defense. While this epic force pursuing you may not be eradicated, you may rest assured that I will at least mar the contractor in a way that satisfies my blood."

While the delivery was certainly surprising considering the earlier chase, an attack was anticipated. It took a special woman, she thought, to go from being embraced and healed to being choked the next moment. Her wings had made an unseemly cracking nose as they were slammed into the tree, sending sharp pains through her back and up her spine. Well, broken wings were more manageable than a broken back she mused- although she was not entirely certain that it was not just a rather wretched bruising. Now was not the time to be testing them in any case. There were other concerns besides mangled limbs: like breathing.

Had she not made a point to calm herself earlier, the sudden lack of air would have caused her to gasp for breath like a fish out of water. The timing had been fortunate, though, and she took the choking with more grace and dignity than she might normally. No attempts to defend herself had been made- this man hardly seemed the type to go through with actually killing another. Even considering the sudden changes in him, she got the distinct feeling that there was something that prevented Gabriel from reverting to such primal urges. There was a certain civility in even the most aggressive of his movements.

The spare hand moved up and reached under the shirt that was plastered to her torso in sweat. Packed in a stereotypical place of safekeeping for a woman- between the breasts- she produced a small globe with two rotating rings around. The golden metal figure had arcane etchings it that were purposefully darkened to be more easily read. Luckily, Kane did not need a visual reminder of what to say. Heated argument had been made when she bought the trinket from the magic connoisseur; he had insisted that she needed to say something in an elegant, meaningful language and phrase and she had insisted on something simple and unassuming. In the end the lure of money had swayed him to acquiesce.

"Dancing flames take me home," she whispered once he had released some of the pressure on her throat. Brilliant swirls of a dizzying, sparkling gold burst out of the item in a blink of the eye, engulfing the pair quickly (another requirement she had made considering her penchant for getting herself into adverse situations). It dissipated a moment later: they had been instantaneously transported to what was a rather elaborate suite. Hand still clasping the object, she lifted her eyes to his, the deep ruby replaced by the prior light violet. "If you are done, I'd ask you to let go now. I'd rather not have to scream for help."

The woman knew she was infuriating, and that was not lost on her. She had consciously pushed his buttons and at signs of reciprocation she had stymied his intimidation by an unavoidable transport. It was his own fault for seeking to reason with her. Kane would rather agitate him with silence and vague attacks than go into any sort of lecture that would pair logic and personal experiences.

The suite that they were now in might not be what one would picture Kane living in. The floor was made of a warm wood, polished to a dull shine and slightly worn from traffic over the years. The walls were painted a pale cream and littered with artwork, pictures, and four shelves that gave it a homey feel. Of that was worth mentioning: a piece of artwork over the bed that appeared to be flames consuming an ambiguous black shadow, pictures of Kane with an identical twin and presumably friends and family, and a badly worn doll hanging off the edge of one of the shelves. A make-shift kitchen was tucked into one corner, a large bed laden with pillows and blankets in the opposing one, and a desk flanked by bookcases in the third. Being something of an organized pack rat, potions, mystical objects, weapons, reagents, and other "work-related" objects were overflowing the bookcases and spilling out onto the adjoining desk and floor. The rugs, curtains, and sheets all bore warm hues (yellows, golds, oranges, reds, browns, and variations thereof). Two large armchairs sat in front of an unlit fireplace they were presently in front of and two doors led out: one immediately to his left under which there was a bright light and one on the wall behind Kane and to his right under which there was no light. Sounds of life and chattering were heard below their feet and passing by the door to his left: apparently her home was inside a tavern or inn and not at all isolated as one might imagine a mercenary might require.

Wards? She stared at the pendant openly, looking entirely lost in the study of it. The long pause after he asked his question and before her reply made it seem as if her focused curiousity had blocked out his words. Her thoughts deviated, meandering down roads of wondering what the curious object was, about wards, and who the ambiguous 'them' was. Before it was pulled too far in the several distinct directions, she consciously stopped herself to concentrate on the last statement... or rather question.

"Yes, there are wards to keep the prying out," she remarked casually with a roll of the shoulders. The red fingers on her neck were slowly fading, although it still created some discomfort when she spoke. "Mind you, they were initially put in place to help deal with a small infestation issue I had with persons from another world and I'm not sure they are of the same nature as your 'them'... but it's effective enough." Carefully taking off her belt and her sword and sheath, she tossed them lazily on an armchair. It would have been nice to put them away, but it seemed like Gabriel wasn't sure if he wanted to befriend her or destroy her and she wasn't taking a chance on agitating him to do the latter. An innocent stride with weaponry out, if only to put it away, could seem threatening enough. "Furthermore, we're in an inn and it's been my experience the folly few that have come across me with less than honorable intentions get waylaid by the crowds for a few precious moments at the least."

"And as for your truce... I have had no intentions of harming you since I thrust my sword into the earth, although I would appreciate if you'd do the same. You're welcome to leave or do what you wish. If you really want to be back in that forest I can give you directions. I just didn't really care to be at your mercy any more than you'd like to be at mine." Eyes traveled over the room, looking for anything of any importance that he could get into. Less concerned about the weaponry, potions, and items of magical significance, her gaze settled on the less obvious things: pictures, artwork, and the kitchen cupboards she kept letters hidden in.

Oh well. Nothing can be done about that now. It's not like I've ever had anyone here before that didn't have murderous intent.

"If you want to stay, you are welcome to sleep on the bed or whatever suits you. I have a mess I left in the bathroom I need to take care of. Did you want bandaging for that gash in your wing?" Turning to the door that was dark underneath, she took a few steps towards it. The hesitance in her steps were not a fear of him finding such actions hostile, but due to the wings: any damage to them, however minor and incidental, made her unable to withdraw them into her back. It had been many years since she had them out consistently and it tooK no small amount of deliberate thought to look completely stable on her feet. Hopefully he'd be too distracted by his anger or she'd be adept he'd not notice.

Rammed into a tree, choked, knifed. God, all I need now is to be cajoled into reliving some horrible memories and it will be a complete wash.

Without meaning to, lilac-eyed orbs fell on a portrait on the wall between the bathroom door and kitchen. A young girl, looking to be a relative to Kane of some sort from apparent facial similarities, sat smiling. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders and tumbled down to her waist and lightly-shaded brown eyes looked into the distance. Had the apparent demoness (or whatever she happened to be) would have sooner stabbed herself than looked at the picture with Gabriel even in the room, much less looking. It was nature, though, to visually remind oneself of what one is thinking on.

"I'm not sure what you have done to them, honestly. I can only withdraw them when they are in pristine condition, so the inability means that there is some injury, however minor. They've suffered worse," she shrugged in response. It wasn't something that she would request assistance for; Kane had consciously provoked him into retaliating in anger. To say that she thought she deserved anything less would have been a bold-faced lie. Her stare was torn from the portrait and she turned back towards him, taking into account his appearance as she did so.

Ugh. A quick dash was made into the bathroom and the sounds of an opening and closing cabinet, running water, scraping on porcelain, and other discomforting things emanated from the room. The wings had barely squeezed through the door frame, turning sideways to make sure that the limbs didn't brush against uncomfortable surfaces. Scurrying around the small space, cursing every time feathers and bones hit something hard, she emerged after roughly five minutes of boisterous activity. With a sponge and lye soap in one hand she regarded him with a hard stare.

"I'll clean up in the kitchen. You clearly need some more time and effort to get the same level of cleanliness. I also imagine that you have more of a sense of decency and that the privacy would be appreciated, yes? As for the bed... sleep where you will. You need not worry about my comfort- I don't sleep for long." It was better to have him sequestered to a small, relatively harmless room. If she was able to sponge herself clean quickly enough she might be able to hide anything of emotional value and attachment so that there would not be too many questions.

Yes, she liked this idea. Hopefully the wings wouldn't be too constrained in her small washroom.

Kane had been conscientious with her cleaning ritual. She started cleaning her unmentionables and then the upper thighs, then moving to her legs and arms. The torso was purposefully left until last. Knowing that it would prove to be difficult at best, she had redressed into loose black pants and procrastinated a bit by switching to her hair. It had been a long time since she had washed it without the illusion, the pale blonde seeming foreign. There had been many years, of course, before she felt the need to hide it behind a curtain of magic, but memories of such seemed distant and vague. Rinsing it thoroughly, she pulled it back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way.

The shirt provided a unique problem. With her wings still unable to be withdrawn, it couldn't be easily removed. The tear had seemed reparable and the blood stain had only made the cloth slightly crusty (as the color itself was a dark red), but it was impossible to pull it over her head or get it past her hips. Grabbing both ends of the rip she tore it off, dropping the mutilated garment on the floor and kicking it away so she wouldn't trip on it later. She quickly scrubbed her torso and put on clean supportive underwear. The scar that the knife had left was already faded away, leaving only the jagged one that stretched over her belly from one hip to another. It was impossible to miss, if only for the fact that it was alone. Her body seemed to mend everything except the one that was most indicative of her sordid past.

Kane was digging through her kitchen when Gabriel jiggled the knob. She hadn't expected him to be so quick and was digging through her cabinets looking for something to assist with first aid to her wings. If he was already done, though, such a search was unnecessary. It would have been nice to get to a shirt before he exited the room, but it would have been impossible- it would take some considerable altering or creative applications of her wardrobe to find something accommodating. Unable to think of anything to help in her appearance, she waited patiently for him to exit.

Time had been too short for her to take down the pictures or the artwork of the fire over her bed, much less move around the personal effects littering her shelves. It was probably a moot point: he seemed completely disinterested in any of them and it was just a matter of time, she was confident, until she inadvertently scared or pushed him away. Gabriel was the first to have stayed in this particular suite, but she had once had friends and guests before. It took one ambush from those who loathed her, an honest question about her past, or a tidbit about the so-called prophecy for her to see their lovely backsides as they fled into the distance.

Gray wings would not be around for long. No need to cover up whether it be herself or her possessions.

When he exited the bathroom the blush was overlooked as she made a mental pause herself. Unabashedly staring at him (at at what part was hard to discern, but it seemed like it was aimed more towards his chest than his face), she came to a sudden realization that was uttered as succinctly as the thought itself- "Oh. You're a man." That wasn't to say that Gabriel had seemed feminine in any way during the pursuit and subsequent interactions with Kane, but the female had just regarded him simply as 'demon.' Unwilling to humanize him in any form, she had ignored his gender along with any other characteristics that might make her relate to or sympathize with him: this included the wings that took her far too long to consider. Now that he had been invited into her home and was standing in front of her asking things in a civil tone and half-undressed, she was suddenly aware of all that had been overlooked. The broad chest had seized her attention in particular. A man? That would make getting clothes a little more complicated than flinging things out of her dresser.

As he circled around behind her she silently eyed him, taking several more mental notes and letting her curiousity take flight. With his pale skin now clearly a shade of white and his hair washed to a fine silver, her head started to spin. Clearly, clearly, this man was not a demon. The more she studied his physical characteristics and mulled over it, the more convinced she was that there was a playful sense of irony about the whole situation.

Waiting until he was standing behind her, fully aware that he was trying to concentrate, she figured she would approach the elephant in the room. Kane had noted he was being painfully polite, but it was not something she found comfort in nor did she think she deserved. Hostility would have been accepted and brutal honestly coupled with brash words would have been easier to accept than diplomacy. That wasn't to say she was completely unaccustomed to pleasantries: she just had no care for them.

"Whenever you decide you are done I can request some clothing from downstairs. I have not entertained men in more than a decade. While we may be strangers, I just assume you not worry about etiquette. I'll be much more at ease if you simply say what you think and call be by my first name and with no prefix. The pretense of niceties is the only thing that causes me discomfort." Clearing her throat, realizing that she was stepping into a possible torrent of personal information, she continued. "You're clearly not a demon. A demon would have some semblance of draconic, webbed wing... not to mention the coloration is entirely wrong. Feathers, and molting ones at that, means either you are an angel hybrid or are an angel turning into something else."

Perhaps he would simply stop healing her (which she fully expected) or perhaps he would retaliate out of anger. After all, he was obviously trying to be considerate and avoid questions that might intrude on her privacy: Who is that on the wall?, "What is that scar?", or "What the hell is wrong with your wings?" A good blow or two was something she could handle, something that had been endured so many times over the years it was second nature due to her line of work; a quiet, still air laden with unspoken questions was far less tolerable.

Her wings gave a slight tremor as if they were cognizant, hearing his voice and giving Gabriel a tactile response; this, of course, was not the case. Limbs had twitched in response to her mind drifting along the questions, jerking between painful facts and reconciling herself with memories. Although her back was turned to him, it would not be hard to guess that she had expected his indifference to continue and was caught off-guard by the prodding questions. For a brief moment, her back turned to him, there was a palpable vulnerability.

"I was born a demon and as such I had demonic wings," she answered slowly, deliberately enunciating each syllable. As her tongue moved past each consonant and vowel the previous apparent emotional strength returned. "I suppose it depends on who you talk to as to the reason for my unusual coloration and mutated wings. My sister and most on my world believe in an old wives tale on the matter, but in any case... supposedly Ashley and I are 'ascending.' If you have an interest in such tall tales, I don't mind telling it, I simply find it a waste of time. In any case, attempts to halt or reverse the inevitable transformation of scales to feathers are unsuccessful. My sister has undergone it already, so I know what is to come, and pulling out the feathers seems to do nothing other than cause pain. I keep them withdrawn as they can't mutate unless they are outside."

The way she talked spoke volumes. While many would claim such unique wings to be a sign of importance and joyfully relate any stories told down generations as proof of their historical significance, Kane was dismissive. Rather than try to gain standing in his eyes, it almost seemed she desired to lose it. Kane wrote herself off as "just a demon" in everything she said and did, unwilling or incapable of seeing herself as anything special or deserving of more. Evidence to the contrary of her "just a demon" theory was downplayed, overlooked, and/or ignored.

"That was my daughter." She said concisely to the question posed about the portrait. The resemblance was there (although not clearly indicative of a mother/daughter relationship) and Kane's slightly strained tone of voice indicated she wasn't lying. The past tense was unmistakable: was.

Quiet for so long and then asks the two questions that I least like asked.

"I'll tell you the story of my people and the ascending or about my daughter if you tell me why it is that your angelic order has abandoned you." Kane was glad he couldn't see her facial expression. Unable to look at the picture of her only child on the wall, she was staring at an unremarkable piece of plaster. If they were facing one another she was not so certain her visage would be so controlled and empty.

As he wove his story and then abruptly ended it Kane was completely silent. She didn't move save for the rhythmic breaths that caused her torso and attached wings to slowly move towards and away from his person. Her still silence was partially out of respect and consideration of the story and the person telling it and partially out of ignorance. Not really knowing the man well, even after an important chapter of his life was told, she was unprepared to offer any empathy or sympathy in any meaningful way. All she could do was give him her full attention and hope that he would understand. It seemed the man didn't care for to comment, either. What could she say in response anyway? 'I'm sorry,' would have sounded contrite.

There was nothing she could offer Gabriel except an answer to his question.

"Demons in my world grow exponentially in population. While angels have virtues and believe in monogamy, demons have fleeting feelings of lust and passion and have no qualms about spreading their bloodlines to as many persons as possible. Despite a sadistic disposition and a propensity to slaughter one another at times, each successive year their numbers grow. Angels, vastly outnumbered, looked to their god for a sign, and the desperation to be balanced with the 'minions of darkness' created quite a legend."

A sigh of resignation was inserted here. It was not intentional or planned; Kane was somewhat exasperated with the story of her being. It was not the telling of it that wore on her, but how something she considered so trivial controlled her even now. While she loathed the idea of being a victim of her circumstances, she lacked a perspective to tell the story in which she was not. Rolling her shoulders slightly, the wings shuffled and brushed against him lightly as they stretched reflexively.

"So someone apparently lacking creativity started to tell how there would be children born of the demonic bloodline that would turn against their people and ascend. Angels 'fall' in our world, and while not common, it happens with a frequency that does not make it so foreign to consider: their hearts will harden and darken and after a heinous act they will lose the love and devotion of their god. 'Ascending' is something spoken of and generally believed demons can do, but it hasn't happened in at least a few hundred years. In any case, it was foretold in one bloodline that a few hapless offspring would be born with a conscience and do acts of 'good' rather than 'evil.' As they would grow selfless acts and feelings would help them find a path of light and gradually they would among the ranks of angels; in essence, they would shift the balance. The demons believed this to be bunk, of course, told by angels in a sad attempt to keep hope alive."

"Then my sister and I were born. While we had demonic wings, our hair and eyes were more typical of those with the light. At first our parents tried to reason it was a recessive trait fallen angel ancestors had passed down, but... superstition won out. We were locked away for many a year hoping the isolation would cause psychosis and breed maliciousness, and perhaps it would have worked had our brother not freed us and fled with us for his own reasons."

A long, drawn sigh escaped her lips now. It was not a reaction to the fact that she had been locked away at her child, nor that her parents were malevolent. The more she spoke the more convinced she was that Gabriel would find some truth in this obscene tale and that he would consider her something more than she considered herself- just a demon.

"My sister has had feathered wings for years now. All her powers have been twisted and turned into those of the light, and while the coloration of said wings are not yet white, I have no doubt they will slowly bleach into such. Mine are, despite my best attempts to cease it, slowly following the same mutation, although I am pleased that they are at least black in hue. I, of course, can not go back to my world. The demons loathe the idea of my existence and I stand out a bit and I don't much care for the company of foolish angels who believe me to be some beacon of hope. With any luck I will reverse my genetic deficiencies and avoid the painful process of turning into what is, on my world, a 'dark angel' in appearance."

There was no explanation offered to exactly what a dark angel was, but she hoped he would understand it was somewhere between a pure angel and pure demon. Kane understood there were no 'evolutionary steps' between the two opposites on his world. Regardless of whether or not he was satisfied, she was done with the rambling exposition and ready to tackle one of their more pressing problems: clothes.

"I'll call someone up, but I think it'd be best if you went to the door. People here would find a man in a towel much more acceptable than a woman without a shirt."