Welcome to Gaia! ::

"You should heal yourself," she replied. The leather and feather limbs seemed to gracefully pull themselves into her back as she turned, a fluid twist of the torso accompanying. A few scattered remnants of them were left behind as they sealed themselves into the bare flesh of her back leaving two dark markings where they might again reappear. While Kane realized he liked the appearance of her wings, she was unsteady on her feet while they were out and she wished to suppress the changes to them for as long as possible.

Stepping to his side she walked over to the corner of her room in which the plush bed was pushed. Above the solitary nightstand was a small, slick black surface with a small red button in the center. Pushing it gently, she spoke into the onyx square. There was a crack and fizzle and whether it be magic or electricity that activated it one could not be sure. "I need some men's clothes. Whatever you can bring to be in five minutes I'll pay double it's worth for. I also need my daily jug of milk if you don't mind." Not waiting for an answer, she released the button. The static ceased immediately, blanketing the room once again in silence.

"I have no doubt that you are wondering the exact nature of my apparent decision to spare your life rather than end it. I loathe demons with every fiber of my being, but despite the changes that your world makes you endure, I am confident you are not now one. Perhaps your physical shell will alter itself to reflect the shunning of your people or god, but it does not appear that, looking in your eyes, it reflects your heart or soul. If my contractor really believes you to be a great evil, then he has not seen the depths of hell closely enough. There are many a demon more fitting of my time and energies whose appearance are a direct reflection of their inner self. Until such a day that happens to you, you are free to do as you please. I didn't bring you here to force you to be my friend or lover, nor to coerce you into assisting me in the assassinations of those who led me to you- which I will carry through with regardless."

"I am afraid I have never had anyone here before, so I am not sure how to entertain you and I purposefully chose a suite inside an inn as an abode so that I could have service. You can order meals if you like or books- money is of no real consequence."

She moved over towards a large, wooden dresser that was stained and polished with a dark walnut. Silver and black fixtures that had curled, elegant flowers on them were the only adornment. A few trivial personal effects were scattered on the surface- a brush, a few hair ties, a few hair sticks, a half-emptied bottle of perfume, and a pair of wooden sandals with red straps. Pulling out one of the top drawers, she started to rummage around, looking for a clean shirt that would be appropriate for company and clean.

"Don't be absurd," she replied a little irately. He couldn't see her face, but her tone was unmistakable; he had inadvertently hit a small nerve. Her shoulders scrunched together a little, shoulders moving forward and together in a small measure to make her back hunch ever so slightly. It was habitual; every time she got upset this little physical reaction manifested, a tell tale sign for onlookers. "Do you think what you are dictates your disposition and how you must act? That the transformation of your body will somehow change the inside? If such were true, as an angel you would have been incapable of falling in love and unable to attack you former comrades. It would have impossible for you to have the free will to even think it because what you were born as would dictate your reactions and thoughts to everything. Do you think that changing your appearance, no matter how dramatic, will suddenly affect that? That the fundamentals of your world will collapse and shift? If so, then you have nothing to fear. Your angels, incapable of sinning, will feel only forgiveness and not a bloodthirsty vengeance."

Her shoulders relaxed as she let the anger dissolve. While they were from different worlds and orders, the implication in any that one would be destined by their birth was frustrating. In his case, it seemed also illogical; but then fear wasn't logical. She was fearful of certain things that were linked to her past and despite the application of reason, she found herself still frightened. Did he think that once she was done turning she'd be a beacon of light and good feeling? He'd be in for a sore surprise. Yanking a shirt out of the drawer, she closed it firmly.

If he turned and became consumed by evil, I'd not just kill him; I'd die trying to destroy this world or leave, whichever seems to suit me best at the moment. I refuse to believe in a world where things are preordained.

"What if I am mindless? I'm just a demon to them, after all. A dark angel doesn't exist here, does it? Demons don't ascend here, do they? To suggest otherwise would be dangerous, not adhering to their ideas." She stood and turned with a rumpled shirt in her hand, eyes fixed on the cloth. A finger stroked it slowly in thought. "And while I appreciate the concern, I know what I am doing. While running has preserved your life, my reputation helps preserve my life. Demons who might be swayed to come after my are deterred by it- they know I have no qualms about ending their lives or be drenched in their blood attempting to do so. No, I will fight until my last breath for the one thing I've created successfully and my right to live. I won't hide in some hole, quaking at fear of what might come."

Shaking out her shirt she wrinkled her nose slightly. It wasn't exactly as clean as she thought. Perhaps a call downstairs for laundry would be merited later. Breezing past him to the kitchen sink, her gaze purposeful and focused, she dropped the garment into the basin and turned on the water. Spurting out and then gushing suddenly, she had to speak over the sound of the falling liquid.

"There are fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat in the fridge. Then inn stocks it with anything I might need as well as changing my linens and tending to other various housekeeping needs. I'm not sure what is in there exactly, but you can feel free to use anything I have here. I don't mind calling up for whatever they are serving downstairs if you are too tired to do so, though."

A devious smirk came over her face as she mused under her breath the implications of what she had alluded to earlier. What would a pure angel, so full of righteous conviction, do if she presented herself as she was? Gabriel had seemed shock to be certain and she expected nothing less from another of his kind. Perhaps they would be disbelieving at first, but Ashley had a definite aura of an angelic being about her these days (although not completely pure). Would the presence of changed wings and an ambiguous aura reconcile itself so easily in their minds?

"What would they do if they knew what I supposedly am? Perhaps I will let the change occur after all." While her low voice wasn't quite malicious, it carried with it an undertone of dangerous amusement.

"It seems, then, that the angels of this world are merely a pretense. I have no regret killing them, then, as they are merely another race and not a sign of anything virtuous and pure." She squirted some soap onto her hands and then lathered the shirt, bubbles creating a white foam as she rubbed it over the fabric. Pieces of dirt and grime started to loosen and seep into the cleansing liquid, tainting it to a light tan hue as she continued. "And so then a fallen angel really isn't a change, but an amplification of the hatred already present in their hearts as they change sides."

"In either case, it seems folly to be an angel that is so clearly atypical and think you'd follow a common course. In my world ascending demons are rare, so rare they are but a struggling myth on the lips of naive angels. Do you think that makes it impossible and untrue? Do you think because it hasn't happened that demons can not find a path of glory and justice? Do you think that all angels that fall are the same, that their decline is for the same matter and they are of the same mind? That there is nothing to be said for individuality, unique reactions and circumstances that breed something previously thought a mirage?" A sigh. It was no use explaining this to him- he already resigned himself to turning himself, to follow the footsteps of the others he had seen fall from grace. She rinsed the fabric under the cascading droplets.

Time seemed to slow. The stream fell slowly, pellets of water breaking free and flying to sides of the sink. As it reached the fabric it battered it into submission like a corpse with grimy blood being washed away into the pipe below. Slow swirls entranced her, drawing eyes to them as they danced enticingly. Her heartbeat also seemed to slow in response, her breath long and intermittent. Subconsciously she knew it wasn't moving slower... that she was simply staring at her hands hovered over laundry.

Resign yourself.

The weight of her being seemed to be there in the sink, a crumpled mess of linen, barraged. The so-called prophecy hadn't actually been particular about who or what children would ascend. Her sister had climbed pearly steps, making all the correct decisions with a firm sense of what was right and wrong. It had seemed true and right for her, something that came naturally and was meant to be. Kane, on the other hand, had faltered at every turn. Countless lives had been lost by her hands. The tale was perhaps a mirage for her, something meant for another. This world she had fled to, the man that stood behind her now, the actions of her past- perhaps they were indicative signs that only those chosen by a god could rise. They were twins- what would be a better juxtaposition?

Even now you're unable to act like she would, a perfect hostess.

The question about food was forgotten in the apparent mesmerizing sight in front of her. In truth, Kane had never really had either dishes he had suggested and so there was no opinion to voice, but the absence of any response was a sure sign that her mind had traversed elsewhere. For all intents and purposes, the demoness seemed to be catatonic.

Just a demon.... just a demon...

Just a demon indeed.

His jerk caught the corner of his eye and she imagined that he was having an inner monologue of his own. It was just as well; it was probably more to his liking to speak to himself- there was no genetic miscarriage chiding him about his opinions. Re-centering her eyes on the waterlogged attire in the sink, she shook her hands as if releasing them from slumber and started to wring it out. She lacked a conventional dryer so she'd simply have to use her iron to heat it up enough to get out most of the water. Slapping it against the basin she started towards the bathroom where such a device was kept.

"Miss Dancingflames!" rang out an overly energetic male voice from the other side of the door. "I have your order!" A young teen stood in the hallway, carefully balancing a gallon-sized clay jug of milk in one arm and a full stack of clothes in the other of various styles, sizes, and colors.

"He's coming. Put it on my monthly bill," she waved her free hand dismissively, knowing the pubescent boy was unaware of the gesture. It wasn't really meant for him anyway- it was habitual and done for her own appeasement.

Bare feet pattered on the floor as she made her way to the bathroom and closed the door most of the way behind her. Clanging and shuffling of clutter soon followed her departure from the room as she tried to find the iron amongst all the items hastily shoved in the cabinets. Grumbling a little to herself to help dissolve the uncomfortable silence and to alleviate her agitation, she happened upon the item quickly. Sitting on the floor with legs splayed out, she used the tile floor as her pressing surface. Too impatient to wait for it to heat properly, Kane began running the tepid metal surface over her shirt slowly.

After dinner I'll write my letter to Ashley and then rendezvous with my contact once he's asleep. The demoness no longer had any intention of bringing Gabriel with her; she had a few notions of how to let him slip away quietly and continue his flight while she enjoyed herself. It had been a while since she had really sought out any sort of altercation and there were a few choice lies to let drip off her tongue that no doubt would have her more moral comrade regarding her with ire.

"I have every intention of eating it, I just thought you might want to get dressed without an audience," she yelled back to him, her voice echoing slightly off the walls of the bathroom. Her hand was visible through the crack of the door as it moved the iron back and forth in slow, deliberate movements. "I doubt you have anything I haven't seen before, but if you desire an audience I do try to be an accomodating hostess."

It was probably wrong to tease him, she mused. In all his years she bet that she was probably the least polite of all his hosts as long as one omitted any that were keeping him as a captive instead of a guest. Finger joints cracked as she put pressure down on the press, a soft hissing noise issuing forth. Some water was squeezed out and escaped through cracks and grooves in and between the worn tiles. It was dry enough after a few passes to wear a bit uncomfortably, but Kane thought she might as well have it thoroughly so if Gabriel needed time to clothe.

She hadn't predicted he'd be so... domestic. It wasn't any sort of chauvinism that guided the thoughts he wouldn't be- it was simply that his mention of fleeing for an extended period of time made her forget that at one time he most likely did live somewhere stable. In all her years as a mercenary, battling herself as she pick and chose her jobs with more instinct than logic, never had she settled down comfortably. While she always had a place to call 'home,' there had never been anyone there waiting for her since her daughter's birth, never had she warmed the oven with meals made from scratch, and never had she entertained friends and family from it. This abode, like its predecessors, had only functioned as a safe haven, one that held things that were of importance to her, rest her head, and occassionally eat.

She put the iron in the sink to cool, watching the last bit of steam curl up into the air. Rolling her eyes at her reflection as he spoke, she barely contained some mumbling coming out under her breath. Kane had caught a hint of surprise when he had first emerged from the bathroom, as if he were uncomfortable, and now he was hoping she had something to cover her torso. Paired with his lack of concern over her seeing too much of his physique, Kane was able to take the situation in a completely wrong way. While he had meant no harm, he had inadvertently insinuated, in Kane's mind, that she ought to cover something up while it was more acceptable for him to bare all. If he hadn't made dinner she would have run with this undeserved summation of his character and started another argument. For the moment, though, his consideration in other areas stayed her tongue.

Barely.

She sauntered out of the bathroom wearing a soft cotton wrap-around top that her sister had once purchased for her. It was long-sleeved and covered her arms, midriff, and shoulders- which was why she had estimated it to be some of her more conservative attire. There was a v-shaped neck, but it hardly showed anything that any other shirt wouldn't reveal. It was her best effort in any case. "They did bring up the milk as well, I hope?"

Although the vivid violet eyes paused on him for answer as she meandered towards the small table shoved against a wall, her mind was still drifting along devious thoughts. Her visage didn't belie what sort of things were dancing through her mind, but they lacked an attentiveness to what was transpiring around her. It could be taken as either an insult, an apparent lack of interest in the angelic entity, or a sign of how easily she accepted his presence such that she'd let it wander. Perhaps it was both- he was so unnervingly docile at the moment, and that in itself was strange and foreign, more bloodthirsty notions were taking root in plans for the future.

"You might as well keep all of those. The only man in my life is my brother and he rather likes sticking to the stereotypical black of assassins." Devon Dancingflames was much less well known and one-on-one, Kane could easily trump her brother. That was not to say he was unskilled; just that his sibling had panache that worked in her favor as well as inherent abilities. Devon enjoyed a more subtle existence- much, much more subtle.

Kane looked at him curiously as he made the motion to the chair she was grasping on to. It took a few long moments for her to guess at his intentions; the woman had never, in truth, been extended such a courtesy before. It was a vague recollection of a time when she had met a client in a restaurant and seen the strange interaction that made her finally take her seat. With all the grace and elegance of a elephant, she plopped into the chair and crossed her legs. Resting her head on her palm, elbow propped on the table precariously, as she contemplated the curious niceties coupled with probing questions.

Affording him the same level of etiquette he had given her, she ignored the food for a moment to wait for him to join. Overlooking the extended contact with a scalding hot dish purposefully, assuming it was a heat resistance due to his angelic nature, she considered what he had asked about her. Eyes flashed the ruby red for a fleeting moment reactively to something that graced her mind.

"I don't really know what my parents did." She shrugged her shoulders. It seemed that her shoulders were highly indicative of her feelings; rolling and shrugging when she was casually referencing something that was emotionally delicate and pushing them together/hunching when agitated. Oblivious of her body language, she continued. "My sister and I were confined to a room when we lived at home, so our interaction with our parents was extremely limited." Her voice was detached and indifferent. Although the images of pained memories drifted through her mind, she had somehow distanced herself as time went on so that now it seemed as if a stranger was in a foreign world. She did not feel herself in that room anymore; instead she watched a movie of someone that she might have known once.

"Devon and I are demons, so I suppose we did what came naturally. People, regardless of the world, don't really offer reputable jobs to our kind. It's a sort of destiny, maybe." Her eyes drifted over the golden dish as if she expected it to impart a more eloquent, well-crafted answer than the one she was about to offer. Her sister was carefully and intentionally omitted from mention of being a demon, although they were identical twins with the same blood. "Devon has a more pronounced blood lust and love of money; he finds killing people is more enjoyable, profitable, and exciting. I joined a foolish war after we left home and some of my acquaintences became mercenaries afterwards. I followed them for a while before I branched off by myself."

"I do whatever strikes me," she said, rolling her shoulders again. "I kill people, of course, and it maintains my unsavory reputation. I try to select those jobs with some considerations." Her conscience was not mentioned here; she knew, without a doubt, he was aware of its existence. Nothing else could be attributed to her staying her blade when he was vulnerable; her demonic heritage, one would think, would call for the shedding of blood. Instead of slitting his throat, though, she had chosen to walk away, knowing that doing so could provoke an attack. Kane relied on plausible deniability of any kindness or mercy by offering up her race (and until recently her wings in particular) to conceal anything other than a dark, hardened, cold heart. "Most of my jobs are guarding or procurring investments, though. It pays, so that's all that really matters."

It would have paid much more to execute Gabriel than feed and clothe him, though. Much, much more.

"Despite my apparent faulty physical attributes, there is nothing that unusual about me," she remarked with some finality and conviction, as if stating the lie would somehow made it true.