wc: 300+
If he recalled the object, it appeared to have no instantaneous significance except, perhaps, as proof of the link that had once bound them together. For some reason, Alaine felt relieved - She'd have been disappointed to think he may have wanted the necklace back. It glittered in her palm, greedily sucking up the last vestiges of sunlight, the burnished gold warm and alive against her skin. She gazed at it a moment, before slipping the stolen thing back away amongst the folds of her leather satchel.
There was an eery brightness to the man's eyes, almost feverish. She recognized, with a prickling of uncertainty, that those illuminated amber eyes had rested upon her. Pondering something she couldn't surmise. Mystified by the dangerous secrets locked behind that gaze, Alaine held her peace until he spoke.
The lithe foreigner considered Gabriel's question a moment, her emerald eyes grazing his features, uplifted in a mask of fond revere. She wondered if he knew the warping of his own mind, that which she could detect merely by his gaze, his air of other-worldliness. Unconsciously, she was attracted to him - Physically, her body was warm where it faced his, for he was handsome and build strong. Wise, perhaps, by the years she perceived in his countenance. But the Apothecary's heart sensed a different unbalance in the Inferni Dictator's entity - Something dark, something that scathed beneath his plastic smile like shadows moving predatorily in deep water.
She wondered, anon, what had happened to the princeling. Perhaps the world had been as cruel to him as it had to her.
"Away." Emerald gaze lingered on him, drawn by the dark hair that swirled about his features. Shadows clung to him obediently, as if he were some sort of twilight liege - She, by comparison, was dyed soft gold and tranquil mauve by the sunset. "Far from there... Far from here." And run she had, from the demons that had chased her, and somehow found her again in the form of the cobalt-eyed Beelzebub. And had it not been for he, perhaps she'd no longer walk the lands of Nova Scotia, a memory born only by the minds of those she'd briefly touched.
Shallow pools of jade alighted on the bag at his shoulder. She could smell the death therein, and sought not to know the contents, but merely to show she was aware of them. He had become a killer, no doubt a mercenary. She had become a concubine to poor fate, and another broken heart to mingle with the masses. Perhaps there was something linking them, still. "What of you, Gabriel?"
Speak think walk
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