SURRENDER cruelty brought the orchids ... The ground smouldered.  Embers and ash were all that remained in the farming town of Dunmeath.  Houses that once stood as a testament to a people's determination for survival crumpled into ruination.  Their livestock lay in mounds strewn throughout the fields, their mortal wounds glistening with blood and visceral gore.  Soldiers harbouring the crest of the red queen marched the streets, dragging behind them any unfortunate soul that could not flee their grasp.  They protested with banshee screams and razing nails that sought to penetrate their captive's armour to no avail.  Others marched the streets behind these oppressors in chains.  She did not march with them.  Her screams did not intermingle with the commands flowing from the maws of these invaders.  Even their home was absent of her presence.  But she was not dead as he had formerly believed.  She was alive, well - for the most part - and here in his arms where she belonged.  He held her close, relishing the warmth of her svelte body flush against his.  The inhale of his breath drew in the familiar comfort of lavender mingling with the faint musk of dirt and herbs.  Her hair tickled the skin of his nose that pressed against it, the broad span of his lips, too, as he kissed the top of her head endearingly.  "You are safe."  He breathed out softly, tenderly against her sooty tresses.  Asmodeus held her a moment longer, unwilling to release the soothing grasp lest she vanish like a curl of rising smoke.  Eventually, however, he would part enough to lift her chin and behold the waterlogged edge of her violet iris.  Bemusement lined his icy stare, the furrow of his brow and the concerned flex of his jaw. "How did you escape?  Did they hurt you, touch you?"  He'd search her face, neck, and the light curve of her womanly shoulders for any sign of brutality.  A rugged thumb brushed the pert tip of her chin as he held it in his hand.  Gods save any creature that would dare injure the perfection that was his.

Poltergeist Tombstone; You’re safe. The tenderness in his voice bellowed louder than the demons that festered her mentality. Like a resounding echo sending soft reverberating ripples in stilled waters. Despite the lingering remnants of alcohol that clung to the fabrics that dressed him, she disregarded it for the time being, savoring every second in the current moment being entwined by the strength of his embrace. His warmth, his musk, she missed every ounce of it in the assumption that she would never be able to relish in it again since those horrific events in Dunmeath. Poltergeist would have been lying if she claimed to no longer be tormented by those once upon a time moments. To see the fires take light, neighbors scattering in a discourse of chaos. Iron and copper clashed with the burning flames of homes, shelters, livestock too. Bodies splay in no general direction that cloudless night. How did you escape? Did they hurt you, touch you? He pulled away gently enough to where her chin would lift to his touch as her reddened lilac gaze was met with the deep sapphire ones of his own. “We ran—..” Poltergeist started. Her breath shuddered, “I took Avarice, and we ran.” Though in truth, those moments were a blur. Pale hands lifted seeking to rest upon his one as she searched his rugged features. “You… you won’t disappear again, will you?” "Speech" ooc: -x-

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It was a cruel fantasia, were it so, a dream manifest from fevered want.  An aching heart pours its impassioned blood into a dwindling pool of hope bleeding it for every sweet, saccharine drop.  That had been the man who found mercy at the bottom of a bottle, found it now in the hands of matrimonial bliss.  A wife that Asmodeus believed to be dead.  Her skin was warm underneath his nicotine-laced fingers unlike the cold bite of death - pale compared to his more sun-bathed complexion.  Just as the red of her eyes contrasted against the deep lilac iris, so did their flesh.  The searching swing of those eyes was sharper than any blade.  Astute, as always.  He couldn't help but offer her the slanted hint of a smirk even at the mention of the outcast daughter.  As her hand slipped over him, rugged fingers sought to ensnare them, holding those lithe digits with a fond gentleness he expressed to her alone; a tenderness reserved for the lady Tombstone.  From him, she sought more than that, an oath, one that took little consideration before he'd give an answer. "Not if I can help it, little dove."  He murmured before seeking her lips with his, attempting to brush them with a fleeting ghost of affection. Still keeping hold of her hand, Asmodeus stepped back, admiring the humble little home she'd made in his absence.  Everything about it screamed Poltergeist from the way herbs hung on the wall to the mortar and pestles littering the counters.  Even pots of various greens basked in the windows and dangled from the ceiling.  It almost looked more like a fable than an actual residence.  A cottage that was worthy of the most woodsy witch.  Though he preferred things differently, more... civilized, he was content if it meant she was happy. "It's... cute."  Asmodeus gestured towards the immediate space.  "Will  you show me around?"  A pondering query was spoken as he continued his hung-over observations.

Poltergeist Tombstone; Her question could have easily been deemed childlike – even childish in the way the askance fell with pleading innocence. It was quiet, hardly a whisper in such a way she feared to even speak as if such words would cause him to disappear, leaving nothing but a veil of smoke between her fingers. Her husband – the relief of unseeing demons, she would turn mountains for and condemn any who dare try to pry them away from each other. Her wrath was black and cruel – unmanageable and untamed. The sheer thought made her breath quiver, her hand gently squeezing his in some hope of affirmation that such fears remained absent. Not if I can help it, little dove. The sweeping brush of his lips against hers was enough to settle her nerves for now. Chills rolling down her spine – pleasant and alien again. Her cheeks warmed in a moments fluster as if was experiencing even the slightest brush of his lips again for the first time. It was then when Asmodeus had withdrew, their hands still entwined, and curiosity cautiously sparked paled features of the maiden. He was speculating this little abode she had crafted and claimed as her own over the course of time. There wasn’t a corner that wasn’t absent of some sort of plant or greenery. Hanging from the ceilings or tucked along shelved walls. This included the moss and myrtle that coated the sidings of the exterior, intentionally blending in with the surroundings of the outside as a means of camouflage. A perfect little place for a mourning hermit. It’s… cute. The raven lord uttered. Poltergeist's gaze fell downcast, sheepish. “It is not much,” she humbled – bashful of the regard. Wil you show me around? Poltergeist blinked, taking a moment to capture his words suddenly feeling the spotlight center her. “Ah—” she sighed with light overwhelm. Lavender gaze searched the little cottage pondering where to even remotely begin. “Well,” she rose if not already standing, straightening out the fabrics which clothed her. “I work here,” she motioned for discord and jumbled clutter with evidence of recent labor with a pedestal and mortar filled with a paste of sorts resting on a wooden side table. Lower lip curled inward as teeth grazed it in nervous habit. Freed hand dug into the skirt of her outfit. “Kitchen, washroom and bedroom.” She motioned each room with little movement. The kitchen stocked with various vegetables and recently gathered herbs. The obvious heaviness of eucalyptus came from the wash. Of course, the one room seeming untouched save for a few snake root plants, sage and lavender decorated the bedroom. “How much did you drink?” she asked then with a clear of her throat. Poltergeist turned to face him, freeing her hands and sought to sweep the back of her palm against his temple. An excuse to ensure that her mind remained sound and that this was no cruel taunt. Fingertips hoped to sweep to the outline of his cheek and jawline noticing the slight stubble of his five o’clock shadow. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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Had she blushed so vividly the night of their wedding, the night their sacred vows were uttered beneath the flower-groomed archway? Asmodeus recalled the scowl on her face, the uncertainty that lined her eyes as they look up from beyond the ivory lace. The soft veil he pushed away to look upon her in full, to claim her lips, to feel their silken curve against the rugged caress of his wanting mouth. Back then he never imagined settling down with any woman, let alone one who had rejected him as she had. Yet, here they were, her face adorned with scarlet innocence, the same shade of red that had dressed those angular cheeks the first night he'd fully claimed those svelte curves. No matter the years that would transpire, she'd always be his blushing wife. As they wandered her quaint domain, Asmodeus drank in every detail that presented itself. The size of her bedding, the quilts that dressed it, the flowers hanging from their pots and those that seemed to nearly crawl up the walls. It reminded him of the sunroom he'd built for her back in the estate. Her own little cove in the mansion that was otherwise his. Asmodeus knew she preferred these homey spaces, ones that were lived in, so the grandiose nature of their home must have been overwhelming - if not entirely unsettling. "How much did you drink?" He turned away from his observations and offered a sheepish grin when the soft caress of her hand brushed against his temple and explored the line of his jaw. A touch so sorely missed. "Mmm..." Asmodeus purred. "More than my fair share." Broad shoulders offered a shrug. "I didn't cope well with..." His voice quieted, brows pinched. "losing... you." A leaded sigh fled his lips and his eyes dropped to the floor with shame. "Probably did some things I wouldn't be proud of. Can't really recall much." A wound reopened, a pain savagely tugging in his chest at the reminder that it could have been a reality. Were it not for that chicken he'd woken with, perhaps they wouldn't have this sweet reunion and they'd both continue on believing the other had perished. After a moment he looked back towards where she said the bedroom was. The room where she had spent probably countless nights weeping about his demise. Asmodeus frowned. "Mind if I sleep it off for a bit?" He asked with a slight tilt of his crown.

Poltergeist Tombstone; Her dark brows would knit together as he shared the surplus intake of alcohol. The regret and shame was evident in the dark circles that shadowed those dangerous sapphire eyes of his. Probably did some things I wouldn’t be proud of. Can’t really recall much. In any other instance she may have been disappointed – or brutally unphased by what she could have deemed as childish antics of his. Such discussions could have led to heated arguments that could have led her to storm off but instead she was quiet, her expression softened as she took his hand, bringing to rest against her chest. A silent reminder that she was very much alive. If she were being honest, her way of coping wasn’t any healthier but one she would not willingly admit. For the safety of her own daughter, Poltergeist had shut herself away, drowning in her work where she pushed herself into exhaustion only to repeat the cycle. Mind if I sleep it off for a bit? Lavender gaze blinked as if pulled away from her own thoughts, reeled back into the reality. A reprieve to see that her husband was still present. Though she’d nearly forgotten the question as she glanced at the untouched room. The most she had done would have been watering plants and going over the sheets several times to ensure they were neatened – even if she never really used it. “Oh, of course.” She stammered. “I don’t really use this room, so the sheets are clean.” She motioned, “I’ll be working out here if you need anything, alright?” She stood on her tiptoes then, reaching to sweep her lips against his cheek. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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Her kiss was like velvet brushing against pumice, the rugged stubble of his face a rough contrast to the tenderness of her loving affection.  Surely he must have been a grizzly sight, if not best described as pitiful.  The once prim and proper Trahern looked like nothing more than a destitute beggar.  Despite this, Asmodeus offered an adoring smile, a return of fevered devotion planted atop the crest of her ebony crown that trailed to her temple where the warmth of his breath plumed against her skin.  "Join me when you're finished, little dove?"  He asked.  "It looks like you could use some rest."  Asmodeus kissed her temple before making his way towards the bedroom, the door purposefully left ajar, dirty clothes languidly stripping away from the hewn muscle beneath until he stood in the shadows of the room in nothing more than his undergarments.  Were it any other place perhaps a sense of unease would trickle down his spine, would make the thought of sleep a far possibility but he knew she was just feet away.  That she was safe. He pulled back the blanket and settled beneath it, nesting himself into the mattress below while blue gaze watched the way she moved about like she used to back in the estate - with an air of concentration and care.

Poltergeist Tombstone; Join me when you’re finished, little dove? It looks like you could use some rest. She took in a breath, biting the inside of her cheek as the urge to exhale that usual dismissive I’m fine threatened to fall from plush lips. Never did she favor the idea of anothers’ concern over her own wellbeing. Poltergeist would argue that she needed to keep busy while her mind wandered with a million new worries with the passing second. That cruel bug of doubt pressing against her: what if by the ‘morrow he would vanish again? That perhaps this truly was a cruel dream plagued by the very demons – manifesting her yearning of his presence? The very warmth of his embrace again?  Lavender sights watched as he parted to the vacant room. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took in a deep breath and reluctantly began to meander about the open concept of the living space and kitchen. Her movements were swift, collecting chamomile and tea leaves and putting them over a flame within a kettle and warm water. While that brewed, she collected a rag to soak in cold water.  Once the tea was finished, she poured the contents into a ceramic-glazed cup and adding a lemon slice. Satisfied, she collected the small bowl and rag accompanied with the chamomile tea and with practiced care, carried both upon a tray to the room where her hungover husband rested. Assuming sleep did not find him yet; “I brought you some tea for your hangover love.” She hummed warmly. Poltergeist sat upon the side of the bed, retrieving the cold rag and wrung out the excess water. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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Sleep did not come readily, his mind preoccupied with the silhouette that moved with supple grace around her workspace.  Over the years he'd watched her mend these brews and salves as if they were nothing more than boiling a pot of water.  Yet, despite her best efforts, he could never get the hang of what went where or how long to churn the pestle until the herbs were at their most potent.  In quiet, Asmodeus had always admired her work.  Despite the stand-offish guise she wore, her heart yearned to help those in need.  A selfless generosity that would - should it exist - grant her soul entry into the realms of cherubic reward. When sleep did come it was abruptly severed when the soft coo of her voice fished for his attention.  Asmodeus blinked away the bleary darkness, the threatening tides of sleep, welcoming instead the familiar beauty of his wife's angular face.  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he sat up, eager to be rid of the throbbing ache pounding away at the curve of his skull.  Blankets fell to his waist with the motion and he took the tea to his lips, slowly savouring sips taken from it.  "It's different than last time."  He mused while watching her wring the water from the cloth, the blue of his iris honed upon the rippling patterns in the bowl below.  "Thank you." Asmodeus sat the ceramic mug down on the nightstand, careful lest it spilt the precious tea that soothed the queasy churn of his stomach.  He'd reach for her hands which held the cloth, the same which he attempted to gently take from those dulcet fingers.  Tenderly endearing motions swept it across her forehead, languidly, ever so lightly dabbing away the glistening beads of sweat that formed there.  It was a softness many of this world didn't see - a tenderness that only she was privy.  He moved the cloth in such a way as to obstruct her vision, enough that he could lean forward and claim her lips with a searing kiss while dragging the damp cloth down to the arch of her cheek.

Poltergeist Tombstone; The labor and practice in her work was thorough. Careful measurements made known by routine practice and diligence in her efforts. Upon her arrival to the occupied bedroom – one which she never used despite it being her little abode, she spoke as if he had yet to find the reigns of slumber. When there was no immediate response and his slothful stir her lip curled inward feeling a sting of guilt. She’d interrupted his rest out of sheer assumption. She wasn’t working quickly enough, and it cost him. Yet, she was still met with a smile albeit a tired one. Poltergeist would have cursed under her breath but instead, quietly offered the herbal tea to help ease his hangover and any consequences of the excessive drinking. While he nursed on the tea, she soaked the rag to avoid trying to pry for a reaction. It’s different than last time. Her cheeks flushed at his thanks, unable to voice there was very little to no change to what she had done in the past. Perhaps it was just making it over and over again – or did she pay closer attention to ensure the perfect batch for her husband? She set the bowl down as he placed the mug upon spotless nightstand. Once her back straightened, it was though an opportunity was taken and the damp rag was taken from her. Lavender eyes widened, perplexed – confused by the notion. With gentle effort, he dabbed the cloth along her temples where unbeknownst to her – sweat had formed. No sooner was her vision blocked and for a moment did she fear that he would vanish before her. “Asm-“ her lips began to part only to be sealed by a bruising kiss. Goosebumps caused fine hairs to stand, crawling down from the back of her neck. It was smouldering. For a moment – an inkling of a second, it felt as if time paused. She could relish the taste of his lips even if fleeting. A longing yearn tugged at her core. The aching want for his touch as the damp cloth rolled down the side of her cheek. Silence claimed her, while the kiss lingered until it didn’t, her nose gently brushing against his. A healers reason and logic surfaced. Work threatening to pull her away again to dive back into whatever it was she was working with prior. One hand sought to rest against his torso, digits finding the fine outline of muscle and ab that defined his handsome features. “You need rest.” She whispers but not without an escaping shuddering breath. "Speech" ooc: -x-

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