her fight and fury's fiery

darkest Iove: Right around the time that little light bulb fizzling shit left, another was coming through the door and bringing with her not only the chill that the last few days of October at this longitude and latitude could bring but a buzz of sexual energy that could not be contained. The Alu-fiend was a thing of wonder; a beauty that could only be matched by that of legends - Helen of Troy, Venus, Aphrodite. A classic look to her, enhanced by what she was rather than who, to attract and cajole and lure. The dark of her hair fell in thick dense waves down her back in a way reminiscent of Old Hollywood, the side parted swoop caressing the high point of one cheek, while the other side had been pinned above her ear with a little cluster of red gems that caught the lights of the Cat and made them shine. The red picked up again at the full bow of her mouth, and the lacquer of her nails at the tips of the slender fingers that worked free the belt of her woolen white coat. The flared trench was pulled off once she reached the bar, revealing the form hugging appeal of the outfit she'd chosen for the night. A thin black top, scooped to nestle at a low point of the cleavage that a really fucking good pushup bra provided. The long sleeves were pushed up half to her elbows, and the second skin top was tucked into the high waist of a pencil skirt in the same red that had been found thrice before. It went down just past her knees, with a long slit up the back for mobility. Nimble feet were tucked into a pair of black pumps with a heel that boosted up her height by an additional three inches. Freya Black settled the roundness of her rump on the stool she draped her coat over the back of; sliding one long leg up and over it's twin to drape freely. The bartender came by, and Freya gave a brief perusal of the drink menu on display -- and was an easy sell on some cocktail listed there, something in tune with the Halloween season coming up, that would no doubt come to her orange and tasting fruity. From inside her shirt, or rather the strap of her bra, she procured her phone; peeking first at the time, and then checking the text she'd sent to her brother. He was late. -d- 

hesitantly yours: Of course Tucker was late. But it wasn't by long. Look, he had a lot going on right now, okay? Where to even start? The part where Beth had laid down so much knowledge for him a few days ago that his head was still spinning with it? The part where her uncle was the school's fabled Headmaster all along, and that was a secret that he needed to keep? The part where the head of Ophelia Donovan was shoved into Beth's hands, and his heart hurt for her and for poor Alice Clare, left to live out the rest of her days without her twin? Or the part where Mrs. Thistlewaite kept a fucking secret lab under the soccer field all this time? It was a wonder he was getting any work done at this point, both academically and at Joe's. But he always had time for his sister. Always. He was just going to be running behind. Normally Tucker was the sort of person who entered...well, not with drama, but he certainly didn't bother trying to slip in silently, anywhere. Bells on doors would jingle, boots would scuff and thud their way across floors, his laugh would reach his destination before his body did. Somehow, tonight, he managed to ghost up right behind Freya. "Boo." Dark head lowered to darker, so he could press a rough, be-stubbled kiss to her cheek. Something was changing about him, and if she paid attention, perhaps she'd feel it. If she didn't, there were  

hesitantly yours: still other anomalies. For one thing, the clothes. His brown faux leather coat, sure, which he shrugged off. Underneath was black. A black t-shirt, black jeans that were not quite skinnies but that still hugged his body. Freya was sparkle tonight, and he was shadow, a role reversal if there ver was one. The second clue was the fact that, when he sat, he leaned over her shoulder to read the drink menu. "Raise any good hell lately?" the cambion asked the alufiend, with a grin. 

darkest Iove: Well, well. He did manage to do that, didn't he. Though he startled her, Freya didn't jump, didn't gasp, didn't turn to him with her hand raised to her chest and her eyes wide and make a show. No, she froze instead, but the second the trigger word hit her ears, the tension rode it's way right out of her body, and she tilted her face up to where he stood beside her, giving it a perfect angle for his aimed kiss to reach. The stubble tickled, and her shoulder lifted a little higher as if to push him away with it, and out of Freya came an uncharacteristic giggle; albeit a very quiet one. A half turn was given, facing his direction now so that she could study him while he ditched the coat and settled. Lush sooty lashes narrowed in contemplation, a thing that carried into the moue that took over the seduction of her mouth. "Something's different about you, Tuck," she began, and a rich laugh trickled out of her next ( the sort he'd be used to hearing ). "Is there any other kind?," the words came out so smooth, implying that she had in fact been raising her own personal hells -- though the truth of it was so much less than hell. Freya had found herself in what could only be described as heaven this past week. A heaven bubble. This may or may not have been the first time she'd stepped foot outside in several days. Ahem. Because it was tempting to do so, and Freya was finding it so easy to give into temptation these days, she reached over and scrubbed her unnaturally warm fingers against the scruff on his jaw. "I like this. You should keep growing this." -d- 

hesitantly yours: "Different? About me? What, I ain't cut my hair or anythin'..." Nope. Still long, still dumb. "And did you just bloody giggle? Freya Black, I'll be damned. More damned? Extra damned?" His mouth quirked, and then it became the easygoing smile that seemed to be Tucker's default expression. While she scritched at his scruff, which he then leaned in to rub against her face obnoxiously as a good big brother should, blues perused the menu. "What's good to drink 'round here, anyway? I don't think I've had a cocktail since 2012." Normally Tucker ordered a coke with his meals at the Cat. Occasionally he had a beer, very rarely. "And you bet I'm gonna grow it out. I'm gonna do that No-Shave November thing. If it works for me, might just carry it on through the winter." The cocktails were skipped, ultimately, in favor of a good hard cider, and he ordered with the addendum that he'd be paying for Freya's drinks tonight, as though wordlessly making amends for his tardiness. "Well look at you." He murmured it while he looked his sister over, smiling. "You look good. All gussied up." It had been a while since the siblings had played catch up, hadn't it? "Fill me in. You go first. Not sure you'll believe what I've got to tell you..." I committed five acts of cold-blooded murder last night and came alarmingly close to getting off on the violence, how was your evening? Ahem. 

darkest Iove: "Shut up," his tickling trumped her answering his questions about what was different about him -- and she was giggling again when he rubbed at her face with his few days stubble -- steeling a hand against his chest to push herself back against him. "I swear to Lucifer, I'll cut you!" A playful snap of her teeth at him when he backed off in favor of checking out the menu. "Oh, hell, I don't know. I picked .. this one," she leaned a bit, bringing with her whatever scent she carried for him tonight, and pointed at the drink she'd picked. That scent? It wasn't ever up to her. She'd discovered that early on. Dousing herself in perfume after perfume of her choosing, only to be told she smelled of something different by everyone she ever encountered. It was a scent that conjured up something deep inside a person, a favorite smell, a favorite taste, whatever it may be. It could even change day to day. A little smirk played at her red-sin mouth. "There's a reason for that. Dinner with Sebastian. It's usually a gussy thing," she borrowed his word for it. Despite the humble upbringing of their mothers, their father had a taste for the finer side of life. And expected his daughter to dress accordingly when he invited her for dinner. "I met him downtown, some French place. He does that on purpose," the slope of her star-dotted nose crinkled. "I hate French food. Other than that, nothing to fill you in on. I've been laying low," her hand came up then and fingers skimmed lightly over the raised and pink skin that was a garish imperfection and a perfect cross riding down her neck and into her chest some; mostly hidden by her shirt with it's angle. She turned the move into sweeping fingers through her hair instead, and sent Tucker a wan smile. "Boring stuff. You don't want to hear about it. Tell me yours instead." Her drink, and his cider arrived, and Freya's had a bunch of muddled fruits in it that she used the slender straw to mix the berries and apples in with the ice a bit better before she took the first sip. It was cidery too, but quite heavy on the rum. -d- 

hesitantly yours: Tucker rather liked the fact that Freya smelled like different things at different times, to him. It gave him a great read on what he really wanted in his life, whether he knew it or not. When he needed to feed, he smelled whatever remained of her last conquest, a pheromone-doused reminder that he needed to tend to his own needs. When he was feeling a little insecure, she smelled like something that reminded him of growing up with his mother, usually reheated leftover pizza and the antiseptic scent of a medical practice that Charlie North brought home with her. Old books when he was curious, sweet earth and coconut oil when he was thinking of Beth, one time she'd even smelled  

darkest Iove: Plz don't ever tell Freya she smells like leftover pizza. Kthx. 

like take out curry when he'd been particularly hungry after skipping lunch. Today? Cinnamon candies and smoke. Right as she mentioned that she had been out at dinner with their father, which made him blink in both surprise and understanding. She smelled like him. Was that due to where she had been, or was that due to Tucker somehow needing their father right about now? "And how is the old man, anyway?" he asked, with what had to be a record low amount of daddy-related angst. "Other than apparently takin' you out to meals you don't want. No French food, huh?" He was the kind of guy who would eat anything, within reason, so it usually surprised him when somebody didn't like something. Except peas. Peas were the work of the devil, and not in the interesting way that Sebastian Moreau was. Tucker clinked his bottle against Freya's glass, gently. A sip, and he raised a too-warm hand to touch over her own just-as-warm one when she touched her wound. "It's over now," he said to her, reassuring. "All over. He ain't comin' back. None of 'em are. My friends and I made sure of that." 

darkest Iove: "He's well. Did you tell your mother about your idea for us to all have Christmas dinner together? He mentioned something very similar." Sebastian hadn't, however, said it'd come from Charlie, but Freya was used to him passing off ideas as his own. Shady bastard. The clink of bottle to glass was satisfying, and Freya took another sip; rather liking the cold tart taste of the drink. When Tucker's touch covered her hand, she frowned a little -- even more deeply with his words. "You're sure?" Her hand turned beneath his, allowing fingers to tangle a moment, before she dropped the appendage all together to the bar -- and had to force herself not to touch her phone to see if there were any messages. Her attention was going to be all Tuckers. "How did you take care of it?" The abridged version, please, of that attention was going to drift. The human bits of her might totally have some serious ADD. -d- 

hesitantly yours: "I did, yeah. Mum liked the idea. Somethin' about havin' the family together, somethin' about me gettin' to know my father better." Again, no Everclear-level absentee dad angst from the cambion. Was that cider kicking in already after two sips? Nah, Tucker wasn't a lightweight, at least not on that level. His hand squeezed Freya's, and he picked up on the uncertainty. It felt good, giving her the news. "Positive. We found where they were comin' from. It was this elaborately-framed mirror that'd been put underground. Remember that tour of the underground beneath Lily Hall I went on? It was down there. We smashed the mirror, busted the gateway between their world and ours. They got no way to heal and reconvene now. Five were left over." Okay, he was skipping some bits here, but he wasn't sure how much Freya would care about the part with Mrs. Thistlewaite--or how much he should be sharing, considering how it overlapped with what was presumably Council business. Here he drew in a breath and took a bracing sip of cider before continuing. "I killed 'em. All of 'em. One stab in the jugular with a glass shard, one through the eye with a scalpel, two snapped necks. And as for the one who was wearin' my face and had the audacity to pretend to be me?" Blues lit up, alive with energy. "Frey. Frey, you'd've been proud, you would've. I let the--" Glance. No, nobody else was paying a lick of attention to them, but he lowered his voice anyway. "I let the demon take over. Wings, fangs, claws, everythin'. I bit his windpipe, tore it right out." His eyes met hers. "You were right." 

darkest Iove: "She would," Freya snickered softly, not making fun of her Aunt Charlie, but speaking from a place both of the Moreau children knew well about Charlie North. Ginger? She wasn't as adamant on the whole thing, even with Freya having spent all those years under Sebastian's tutelage. Ginger only cared for the safety of Freya's three younger siblings, which was a good reason why she'd had to go off to live with her father in the first place. Tucker went into the whole thing -- this was most certainly not the abridged version, and she felt her attention going here and there a few times, but she always wrangled it back in to him -- getting the good meaty parts of if all, the death's he dealt and the details of how he'd done each. When he spoke of the one who'd had his face though, he had her rapt attention, and her mouth curved into a closed lipped smile -- one that split there at the end with a throaty laugh. "I'm always right. How did it feel? Not the windpipe between your teeth, but letting your true nature out." Yes, they were half human, but the human was weak and miniscule compared to the demon that lived in them both. A demon so different in it's appearances and talents, but equal to it's malice and cunning and style. Sex and violence -- they were one in the same. Her phone buzzed near her elbow, but went ignored in favor of her brother; mercury gaze searching the blue of his. -d- 

hesitantly yours: Tucker knew so well that his mother was a kind, if consistently inquisitive, soul. Having a child had never been in the cards for her, but once she did have one, she had always pulled out all the stops to ensure that her son wanted for nothing, and was certainly not opposed to doing the same for Freya. He had smiled and glanced down at his drink, that fond kind of smile, when Freya made the completely acceptable and truthful little jab about his mum. So maybe he didn't give the completely abridged version, no, but this was Tucker North and he liked having all his facts straight and all his proverbial duckies in a row when he spat out info. Every good story had a linear progression from beginning to middle to end. How did it feel? Well. He took a pull of cider and mulled it over. "Kinda like...kinda like a cross between the sort of orgasm that whips the breath right out your lungs, and slippin' your feet into a pair of shoes that were made just for you." Nimble, clever fingers peeled the label off the bottle while he spoke, and when he looked up again, it was with a smile. "I was stupid to pretend I can go through life without bein' what I am. I ain't afraid. Not anymore. And I wanna talk to Dad." Not just about the curse anymore, either. About knowing his actual nature. It would always be a balancing act, he knew, between erring too much on the side of human and the side of the unholy, but a new set point had been plotted, and it wasn't clear to the human side. It was a nice, stable medium. He glanced down to her phone, which was apparently going off the hook. "Ain't you popular tonight?" he teased. "Did you start up another orgy again? For shame, Frey-Frey." A hand went to the back of her neck to give a playful and utterly harmless shake. "For shaaaaaame!" 

darkest Iove: "Mm, that's the one, that's the feeling." Lifting up her glass, she saluted him with it, then took a healthy pull from the little black straw inside; nodding her head far too enthusiastically in agreement with his statement on his stupidity -- though it was only for the reason why. "Yup. You were. But it's alright. You've plenty of time yet to still learn. Hell, I'm bloody still learning, but I've always been a quick study." A wink cast her lashes down, and came paired with the wide tease of a grin. "You should. He might be an asshole, but he's an asshole with the answers, Tuck. Think of all the shit he knows, all the years he's had to experience things that we can't even fathom," she leaned in a little closer now as she painted the picture; her own excitement over just that fact creeping into the breathy tone of her voice, and the silver of her eyes. " `A wealth of debauchery, my pet` is what he always told me when I asked him what the point of it all was." He teased, and Freya gave an unladylike snort; but took that as an opportunity to press on the button that illuminated the lock screen of her phone, and displayed that she had a picture message. "No, no orgies. I told you I'm a quick study, and I learned my lesson on that one," shooting Tucker a wicked grin, Freya picked up her phone and swiped the lock free with her thumb to open the message. "Besides, I'm pretty much -- that motherfucker." Gaze had transferred to the screen while she'd started to spill some beans, but beans that were ruined by the image that popped up. -d- 

hesitantly yours: An asshole with the answers. "Well, to be fair, I didn't want the answers. Not til real recently. I didn't even wanna think about the questions..." But things had changed now. He had been able to channel the demon for a purpose. There was still debauchery in the kills, of course. There were overblown, especially the last one, and he had initially been startled by how the act of taking a life had effected him. There was a perversely sensual appeal to it. "A wealth of debauchery," he repeated, his voice just as hushed as his sister's. He'd spent too much time thinking in opposites and black and white and mutually exclusive and not enough time thinking in terms of all the in-betweens. There could be darkness in light. "I guess I ought to give him a call, then. I'll let him know I don't mind French food, but that I ain't worn my suit since Grandmum's funeral." Tucker radiated that sense of carefree, careless appeal that looked awkward in a suit anyway. It was the kind of sexy that seemed like it might not transfer well into being dressed up, the kind that was designed for romps in the grass and naked skin under light sheets. Or maybe he'd surprise the shit out of everyone. Blues dropped to the phone, and he blinked in surprise. "You're pretty much--what is it? What happened?" And of course he was going to try to look, because Tucker was a nosy fuck. And because he wanted to know what had startled his sister. "Is it Dad? He's technically a motherfucker to both of us." ...Tucker no. 

darkest Iove: That earned him another smirk, "Trust me, for his son, it's doubtful there'd be some fancy dinner meant to show me off. You'll end up at some exclusive sex club, where all the patrons have too much money and too many kinks." All that she'd said, though, was forgotten now with the way her bones went cold, and then nice and hot when rage bubbled up in her blood. "No," she snapped out -- not at all at Tucker, though. "Not Sebastian. Here, have a bloody look for yourself." She tossed the device onto the bar, and at the same time signaled the bartender to come over with a lift of her hand. There, on the screen, was Huckleberry Dyer in glorious flash. It was dark around him, save for what the flash had picked up in the background. Stripper pole. Technicolor lights here and there. A bare breast, half an ass. But in the forefront was the necromancer; obviously stoned out of his mind, his shirt gaped open and lipstick kisses covering his pale skin. There was a girl curled in his lap, in nothin' but a g-string baby, and his hand was beneath that string. From the back? The girl looked remarkably like she could be Freya; dark hair, pale skin, and they were playing tonsil hockey around a twenty dollar bill. The bartender arrived, and a very clipped tone spoke up. "Patron. Straight up. Two -- no three." A glance cut to her brother, "Do you want anything?" -d- 

hesitantly yours: Exclusive sex club? He quirked a brow her way and said nothing to that, his expression halfway between intrigue and trepidation. No, not about the kinky sex. Don't think for a hot second he hadn't contemplated how his Bethy would look in ropes or cuffs. "I hope he doesn't expect me to go fuckin' the patrons," he murmured. "I ain't breakin' promises." He'd rather have French food. Freya's uncharacteristic outburst had him looking at the picture on her phone, and it took a few minutes for Tucker to get it all together. Step one, that was the seemingly-homeless man he remembered from Joe's, the one with the sad eyes who thought Freya's name was Veronica. Two, he was having one hell of a night. Three, Freya was mad about it, and Freya was pretty much the last person on God's green earth who he would expect to get upset about somebody having a drug-fueled romp with a stripper. She was the sort of person he'd expect to find cheering the guy on! "I'll have one," he said. One shot of Patron, just because he was pretty sure he had never actually had tequila. "Don't get too shitfaced, now, I don't really want to carry your ass back home. But uh." He tapped the phone gently in a spot that wouldn't do anything to the image. "You wanna explain why this has you so pissed off, then? 'Cause it looks to me like your friend here is engagin' in what our dear old dad would call all sorts of debauchery." His mind did leap to a possible conclusion, but rather than voice it, for once, he let Freya do the talking. 

darkest Iove: While Tucker was looking at the first one, another pic came through -- same girl on his lap, and Huck's mouth wrapped about the crest of her breast; his clear-blue gaze on the camera, and a grin around where he had a nipple trapped between his teeth. The second was followed by a third, and in this one, the girl was leading Huck from the chair, and he was shooting the camera an very deliberate middle finger while wearing that same callous grin. "Make that four then," she called to the bartender. "Lemon and salt," she added as an afterthought. Her brother wasn't much of a drinker. He might want the buffer. Frey glanced down at the phone when he tapped on it; the last image the one still on display now, and a gaze that had gone from it's natural blue-grey like swirled mercury, was as dark as the sky at the pinnacle of a violent storm. "That's not Huck," she grit out by way of explanation that would mean nothing to her brother, and was a world of difference for the Alu-fiend seething there in her attractive red and black. "He --" Damn, that bartender was quick. Arriving and setting the drinks down, with a shaker of salt and a plate of lemon slices. Frey busied her hands then -- immediately lifting one of the shots to her lips and tossing it back. The burn wasn't good enough, but it'd do in a pinch. For now. Empty glass was replaced by a full one, but she passed that to Tucker. "I mean, it is. But it isn't. I can't explain that to you. But who that is? I want to kill him." If he wasn't already dead, that is. "But I can't, because clearly that would be hurting Huck. Here. Take this. Gimme your hand." A lemon wedge to Tucker, and if he complied with giving up his hand, she licked the side of it with a quick move, and dumped a few shakes of salt onto the saliva spot so that the grains stuck to it. "Salt, shot, lemon. Go." She didn't think he'd find it queasy to lick where she'd just licked. Sorry. She's in the zone. She didn't, however, complete the same set up for herself. Just clinked shot numero dos with his, and took it like a champ. -d- 

hesitantly yours: Putting the pieces together was harder than he thought, but this was definitely not the trickiest puzzle he'd faced around here. The pictures kept coming in, and Tucker found himself offering them a look that suggested he franklywouldn't mind being either one of them, Huck or the stripper. But it was pissing his sister off and that came first and foremost. "It's somethin' in his body then?" he guessed. You know, he had actually witnessed a ghost possession before, when Marie Edlington took over Beth's body to recreate the night the sphynx had attacked. That wasn't quite what was on his mind, but he figured it was some sort of other thing that lived inside Huck's head. An alternate personality or something. "Okay, but why is it makin' you so mad?" Remember, Tucker had not been the one to see Huck and Freya walking together on the Promenade. He had no idea. None. The hand was given, the lemon wedge taken, and he watched in surprise as Freya licked his damn hand. Salt, shot, lemon. Noted. And he didn't even seem to mind licking where she'd licked. It was no different than demanding she share some chips or a sip of her drink. Clink. Tucker licked the salt, took down the shot, and stuffed the lemon wedge into his mouth to hide the fact that he could feel his face automatically contorting into a cringe. People voluntarily drank that shit?! At least the cider had flavor. Tequila was like casually taking a shot of kerosene. "Mmmp." Looking like a moron with the lemon wedge in his mouth like some kind of a mouth guard, he turned slightly watering blues to Freya for her answer. Deep down, way deep down, he thought he might have a hunch. 

darkest Iove: The only answer she gave on that was a shrug. Huck had never told her outright not to tell anyone about his ghostly visitors, but with the reluctance in him to tell her, she figured it wasn't something the man advertised to every one. She filled her mouth with tequila to delay the answer of the second question aimed her way, and was grateful for the distraction of his own shot .. even if it was just a few moments. Cause look at those eyes on her. Prying, curious, nosy brother eyes. "Because he -- " Her mouth pressed right together, because she accidentally looked down at the still lit up phone, and another damn picture had come through, because Tom was an awful evil wretched piece of shit. It was a close up, and though the girl looked a bit like Freya, that was decidedly not the Alu-fiend's mouth on Huck's dick. Her fist hit the screen of the phone so hard to get rid of it, it cracked, and went black. Taking in air through the flare of nostrils, Frey reached for the remaining Patron. "You're going to make me bloody say it, aren't you?," she muttered, casting a side glance to the cambion at her side. "Fine. FINE." Tequila down the hatch first though, and the back of her hand wasn't just to swipe at the remaining liquor, but to also sorta muffle things when she said, "He's my bloody boyfriend." -d- 

hesitantly yours: Tucker still had the lemon wedge in his mouth when Freya decided she was going to shatter the phone. He didn't even flinch, just looked down at the cracked screen and then back up at his sister's face. Out came the wedge. No more tequila for him, literally ever, because that was disgusting. He might be back on board with drinking in moderation, but he was certainly not going to sacrifice his ciders for hard liquor anytime soon. The bartender was clearly torn between being startled at Freya's outburst and laughing at Tucker's reaction to the tequila, and he flagged her down and asked for a coke instead. Now, when Freya gave her grand reveal, under any other circumstances, there would have been so much shit-giving. So much. About how she had strongly suggested that the way he loved Beth made him weak, how does it feel, blah blah. All good-natured, of course, because frankly he was happy that his sister had found somebody. And Huck seemed, from the one whole time they'd met one another, like a good sort of soul. Quiet, understated. Definitely not what he would have thought her type was, but then again, did anybody ever see teenage Tucker, whose little side hobby had been fucking the girlfriends of the people who dared to insult him, ending up with a sharp-tongued, too-smart witch? But tonight, after seeing those pictures and seeing how they had angered her, there was just a silence. He finished the last of his cider, accepted the coke. "You sure I can't kick his ass right back to Ireland?" he asked. "'Cause I don't take kindly to anyone deliberately hurtin' my little sister." His head moved to the left, then to the right. Crack. Crack. Tucker's latest tell. 

darkest Iove: Tucker was too quiet after she dropped Freya-bombs. Words that were so .. mundane, so normal, so casual, so everyday. People had boyfriends. They even had girlfriends. Gross, right? It happened every minute of every day, and here was this one, breaking phones about it. Was it broken? With Tucker, I don't know, taking it all in Freya gave her phones button a testing push, and the dim screen lit up again on the lock screen that was littered with a spider web of cracks streaming out from the impact of her fist. Well, that was a good sign. Stormy eyes lifted to her brother, and she scrunched her nose up. "No. I told you. That's not him." Tequila was hot in her belly, and with a rather over dramatic sigh, she turned bodily towards him again. "He's not doing it. Ugh. Okay. It's like .. " She was flailing inwardly, and a hand came up to press to her forehead a little. "I don't want you to think he's bloody insane or other personalities or the like, he's a fucking dream is what he is. He can draw, y'know. Me. He draws me. I've never seen anything like it, I see my face all the time, but never like that. And he's quiet, I like his quiet. I'm still in his quiet, I could lay in it for hours." Christ. Lame. Gross. Raven black brows furrowed. "But that's not him," a gesture was made towards her cracked phone, now thankfully hiding the pictures that Tom had sent. If there were more, she wasn't opening them. "I didn't meet Huck first," Freya toyed with the straw in the drink she hadn't touched since she decided tequila was a far better choice to cull the succu-rage. "I met Tom. Wild, uninhibited, brash, atrocious Tom." -d- 

hesitantly yours: Other personalities? Tucker raised his brow. "I ain't gonna think he's insane, Freya. Have you gotten a good look at what we are and who we surround ourselves with lately? I ain't gonna judge him for...whatever goes on. So long as he's good to you. If he hurts you, if the real Huck hurts you, that's different. But I mean, if he's got...head-friends or...whatever..." Tucker trailed off and listened. It was hard not to smile the way she spoke about him, and in the end, he did smile. "So what does it feel like?" he asked, echoing the question that she had asked him about letting the demon loose. "What does it feel like to fall for somebody?" And he knew the answer to the question, just as she had known the answer to what it felt like to become the demon. He knew the feeling of the comforting quiet, of a skimmed hand over the curve of a hip on a sleeping form in the wee hours of the morning, of the easy silence of two people working on their homework independently in the same room. "So I guess Tom is like...one of his alters?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around it. Tucker glanced down to the cracked screen. "Is that Tom, then? The one who's apparently high as a bloody kite and enjoys the company of, er, ladies of questionable repute? Present company notwithstandin'." One blue closed in a playful wink. "In all seriousness though, Frey, so long as Huck, the real Huck, treats you right...I'm glad you got him." The unspoken flip side was that if the real Huck didn't treat her right, he'd get to find out what it was like to have the shit beaten out of you by a cambion. 

darkest Iove: "Head friends? Tucker James, he doesn't have imaginary friends," exasperated, but mostly at herself for the shitty fucking way of explaining, a hand was thrust into the side sweep of all that dark hair -- only to shoot out from between the silky strands to point a finger at him. "I'm not answering that question, do not make this so bloody human. We're not girlfriend! This isn't a slumber party! And you're also decidedly not my mother." Her cheeks felt hotter than they should, and even pinkened in the apples of the freckled things. He asked more questions, Tom the subject, and Freya turned so that she could press elbows to the bar, and drop her face into the waiting support of cupped hands. "No. No, I mean. Yes. That's Tom. But he's not .. he's not an alter. He's .. he's his brother. His dead brother." Up came her head, and a level gaze found her own brother just a foot or so away. "I think .. And I'm not telling you this, damnit .. but he - Huck, he can see ghosts. More than that. I think they can possess him, or at least I know for a god damn fact his brother can. He's trying to make me go away. Because I make Huck .. I make him .. choose me. Not on purpose," she was quick to add, reaching for her drink now, but no longer finding the crisp taste as enjoyable as it had been pre-Patron. -d-