Godspeed [cw]

The sounds he made were like silken smooth music in her ears. Nearly making it tingle down her spine and leaving a craving for more of that exact sensation. Arrogance and superiourity complexes had very simply left her damamged. An inbreed hatred for the likes of him had turned the suffering of him and the domination into what closely resembled sheer pleasure. Some had told her, that it would be her downfall but they just didn’t understand. And they weren’t the ones with the perfect playmate in her grasp. A powerful archangel, desgustingly rightous to his bone, captured almost too easily. She had an idea of why… It had been like an early christmas gift when it became clear, that he had yet to catch on to what was going on and empathizing the fact she had just stated. He still thought she was her. Luckily his back was turnd to her and she stood in a blinde spot even if he had turned to look over his shoulder or he would’ve seen the smile growing on her face. However, he might be able to sense it a little in her voice as it was hard to suppress the delight. “This is fun,” she said in a bit of a whisper under her breath before extingush the smile and lastly tapping the tightly bound knot around his aching wrists.

“What did they tell me?” Whatever accent that accidently had appeared in her voice for the last few sentences had been removed as she spoke again this time. She spoke calmly but as she repeated his words back to him, there was a hint of spite wrapped around them. She made an effort to bring out the feeling that he should already be well aware of what the answer to his question was. That he should know! She walked around him and stopped again right in front of him, intense eyes looking at with him relaxed features on her face. The slightly too strong concerned looked from before was nowhere to be seen. “They told me the truth,” she finally replied, still spiteful if not a little sliver more. “They made it quite clear how you’d never come to fully trust me. No matter what I’d do. No matter how much I might trust you. And why?” The little witch walked closer, so close that their knees grazed, and she gently leaned a little down towards him. Her eyes didn’t look away from his, and she was unfaced by how near their faces now was to each others. “It’s because I’m a witch, isn’t it? I’m untrustworthy by that simple notion. What an absolute perfunctory mind that the great God above gave you.” For a good second she just held eyecontact before the tip of her tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth and tasting the blood still there. This had her lower her eyes gently and lifting her hand up to wipe it off as if she only then had noticed it still being there when in reality she was attempting to have him focus back into it. To the fact that she had been injured. And it was mostlikey his fault.
She stood up properly again and as she took a step back, she turned slightly away from him while finishing up removing the blood and then rolling her shoulders. They were so stiff. A body was always so stiff in the beginning. Especially when the host wasn’t very complaint with its newest tenant and there had been need of some.. persuasion beforehand. Hmph. Prideful bitch had to make things difficult.
Saga turned her attention back to him. “I was blinded by my attraction to you. You see, I like to think I’m smarter than let something like that get in the way but…” She scuffed a cold chuckle that barely managed to bring the corners of her mouth up in a matching smile before it disappeared again and she continued: “The Devil is blamed for the creation of the succubus and the other sins. What a joke. The only thing the light of God does is blind you so you don’t see the spikes along the path he’s sending you down.”

She fought the urge to click her tongue at him due to the lack of those reactions which he had so naively expected. His righteousness and rationality didn’t help much with improving her mood either. Always trying to find common ground to explain and get through the problems together. Maybe she hadn’t been the best choice for this, since it was almost enough to make her want to puke but then again; none of the others could do what she could and despite the feelings bubbling inside her, none of it showed on the outside. There was no fault in her pretend!
“Of course you would’ve, Michael. But you’d only do it to save yourself from more guilt and not because you actually cared about anyone else,” she strongly accused him and simultaneously remembering not to bring too many emotions into it. But oh, tempting it wasn’t to force forth streaming tears.. “You almost make it sound as if they are the ones making me do this. I’m here on my own accord. They just gave me the opportunity. They possibly thought it’d only help them with whatever plans they have for you later on. If anything, this is mutual.” Her gazed turned even colder as her dark brows furrowed to create that small crevice of skin between them. “I’d like to say that it’s nothing personal..” With those words she held up an elegant hand and snapped her fingers. It was a sharp snap but there was no way for it to naturally piece into the archangel’s ear canal as it did. In the exact instance he’d experience an agonizing ringing in his head as if the area inside his skull was vibrating at high frequencies.

The little which didn’t leave him with it for long, though. Just for a couple of good long seconds. A taste of what he could be looking forward to. It was partially because of a certain little thing, that had her restrain herself. A little extra reaction, she had caught onto. The confusion and …surprise. Intersting. It wasn’t usually a word she’d use but the Saga’s mind still interfered even though she was sure these thoughts were not the trapped crow’s. No, that bird was still securely in its birdcage.
I know I screwed up. This peaked her already perked ears some more. As if the innocent discovery had been enough to rekindle her spark. Frankly, it wasn’t very hard to do that. A complex vessel didn’t change a simple creature that much. “What I’m talking about isn’t your personal path. It wouldn’t choke me, if it more of the layout of a landmine field. But… I bite.” She stood a little more straight and lightened her frown as she once again leaned down towards him. While she wasn’t as close to him as before, she was still close enough so that she would rest her hands on his knees and support her posture that way. “How did you screw up?” she asked rather calmly. She even tilted her head slightly to the side. “Tell me. I’d like to hear it from your mouth. What you think you did. Don’t skimp out on the details either.” The look in her eyes were as clear as she could make it; This was the chance he had asked for. The chance to make it right. Just too bad, that there in reality wasn’t possible for him to ‘make it right’ as he put it.

“I’m all ears, Michael.”

He… leaned in. It went completely against the attitude she had hoped to pulled out from him! She sensed his slight cockiness from his first demand of inquire; needing answers to a question of his own first. And didn’t she so perfectly mimic the vessel’s confidence by not moving back herself at all, she remained as calm and unbothered by his intimidation attempt, then she’d have had to bite her tongue. “The Winter Ball,” she said as an almost instant reply hadn’t it been for the intentional second of silent. She didn’t hesitate on one single syllable because the thing was: She knew. At least, she knew enough. “I might not be one for appreciating the kinds of grand and lavish gatherings but believing I’d forget so soon is nearly an insult. The reason I attended, in defiance to our quarrel, was after al-.. AAARGH!!!” She suddenly screamed out in pain and immediately stood up to take a few stumbling steps back as she shook and grabbed one of her hands. “FUCKING BITCH!!” Looking down at her hand, she saw the two deep slits on the top of it which seemingly had just appeared out of nowhere. They bled quite a lot and there was no doubt how ut must have felt to so abruptly get them.
Whatever calm had been veiled over the dark-haired young woman was immediately gone. Whatever pretend has been washed away like had a bucket of water been dropped over her and made the paint smudge and drip of. When she finally moved her eyes from the cuts to Michael, it was the same blue eyes that he’d met but that was about it. The expression was nowhere near as mellow as they usually were. As they had been just a little ago. The bleeding hand was in that next instant raised and then sent directly across the angel’s face. Tiny red droplets spraying and the slap, although flat handed, carried a massive amount of supernatural strength behind it. She couldn’t hit the witch herself for what she had just done – jeopardizing things!! – but she could make her hit him.

Saga let out a loud and heavy sigh of both relief and satisfaction, wiping her head so to get hair out of her face, as she straightened herself up after that outburst of frustration. “Ah, sorry about that. Your companion looks to not like me playing her part any longer. Quite rude, isn’t she? Interrupting the grown-ups that. Tsk..” It was still her voice but the tones were now very different. The very neutral accent had gotten the flare of the nature of the actual new pilot of the tongue speaking. Not really minding the blood at all or the stinging wound that was slowly healing back up again, she ran the hand through her hair and revealed… a smile as attention returned to Michael. A big smile. A prideful and underlyingly sinister one. “Now, where were we? You were about to tell me all about how you fuck things up for people around you.” She dared a step towards him while she let down her arm and moved both her hands to rest comfortably on her hips. “Don’t let whatever just happened stop you. I really am interested in hearing you say it out loud,” she insured him with a theatrical head movement.

Her eyes were now glued to him rather than simply watching him like she had done up until then. They were excited. More so to finally witness how he’d react to the reveal – although a tad bit too early than planned – than to actually hear him recite his mistakes. In a way, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that.

Every little lasting bit of humour that had been on her face abruptly dropped completely from her face even before he started his chanting. As if she had been able to sense what he was about to do before it happened. As if something had started collecting in the air around the concrete room, an holy power that quickly made the small hairs on her body tingle like e spider she was. “No!! Stop that!” she yelled instantly furious and she lunged out towards him like an animal ready to strike but she was halted before she could do anything.
Another agonising scream pushed forth through her throat and she fell hard down unto her bare knees right there in front of the archangel. She curled up with a spasm and tensed up in every inch of her borrowed body, fought the expelling with all her might. How dared he?! Didn’t he know that his witch also felt it all? Didn’t he know that he’d risk that she would go down just as well as any demon? If the grip was strong enough. … Didn’t he know it was absolutely pointless? In an almost perfect curve of sound, the scream and strenuous sounds changed and turned more and more into laughter. The same with the acted compulsions stopped to instead shimmy the now relaxed shoulders in the same rhythm like the laughter. Then by putting her toes back and pushing herself a little backwards, she effortlessly got right back on her feet and presented the prideful hero with sheer amusement that was so damn misplaced on Saga’s face. “Would you look at that.” She didn’t spare on the smugness when she repeated his same words before overdramatising a gasp. “It didn’t work. How can it be?!” The smile never left her eyes no matter what expression she used to rub it in his face.

Gracefully, she lifted her hand up and swirled a pointed finger in the vicinity of her mouth as she then asked: “Can you taste it? Right there on your tongue. The incompetence. A lot like when the little man -” She, instead, pointed her finger straight up for reference. “- won’t stand when it’s time for a bit of delightful cave diving. Tsk tsk tsk, Michael. You didn’t actually think that we’d let you talk if your precious words would just do the job.” She shook her head at him, very disappointedly. “We worked hard on getting the bitch here to comply. Witches are usually so easy to slip into, but there’re just some who doesn’t like to have other meddling with their stuff,” she explained while giving the horribly slits on her hand a little glance. Meh. It hadn’t actually hurt that much. It was but a scratch from an angry cat, that was. No wander the witch had a familiar with claws. What a match.

He was right. They were running on mostly borrowed time with him. They had covered his tongue so his words would have no power, but it would eventually dissolve. They had suppressed his abilities, even managed to suppress his strength, although that had shown to not matter much. The man was a beast, given all the best of God. In this day and age, he’d probably be thought to be more machine than man. Still, they had him sat there in his little chair and he could currently do absolutely nothing and while he was right, there was still plenty of time before any of it would falter.

The imposter clicked her tongue at him, shaking her head at him one more time. “Oh, Michael, now you’re boring me,” she said blatantly accusatory, waving a hand that if anything was rather dismissive of his continued premature gloating. “You were truly blessed with a voice on an angel however, this arrogance really doesn’t suit you at all. You sound like a small boy trying to be big and tough. That, or some grumpy old crook. Already getting tired of life, are we?” She might be twisting a lot of her words into questions like these, but in reality, she didn’t want answers to any of them. Not the verbal kind. She wanted to plant small inconspicuous thoughts in the back of his mind. If she was lucky, they’d whisper themselves to him in his darkest of hours when he was alone. Of course, she was of the impatient sort and it was always a thorn in her side, when he took none of the hits then and there even though she was well aware of the potential effect only manifesting long from then.
“But yea!” A heavy sigh followed by her then completely closing the short distance between the two, shamelessly sitting down in his lap as if he was a chair for her convenience. Both legs on one side for the time being. “She’s a feisty one. She would probably stab herself if she could. I can see, that she’s quite trigger-happy with sharp objects. And what an obsession with blood, hm.“ As her smile grew into a bit more delight, she turned to look at Michael. She definitely didn’t mind this closeness to him and she even wrapped an arm around his neck for better positioning. “I mean, what kind of company do you keep these days, Michael? I knew you were into the forbidden fruit, it ended you on in Hell, but I would’ve thought your daddy had straightened you out. Ah! Speaking of Hell!” She moved slightly in his lap, turning her front as most towards him as comfort would without her switching seat, and then moved her other hand to his shoulder, firstly laying it there with grace before digging her thumb into the flesh. Poked right through the shirt’s fabric and then the skin and then the nerves and muscle fibers. All the way until she hit bone. He might’ve thought she could only work her magic with the frequent vibrations through mental ability alone. He’d be wrong because as soon as she made contact she sent those vibrations right through his bone structure. Increasing the intensity as she saw fit. “You don’t know me, I’m sure, but I was a big fan of you when you visited us there.” She didn’t stop while she spoke. She only dug her thumb deeper in, although there wasn’t much length left to do so - useless small hands.

Suddenly she pulled her thumb back out in another spray of blood - this time his, of course. She wasn’t careful to be gentle. He could surely take it. Those feather freaked always healed up faster than the morning dew evaporated from the sun. “With that said, whether your little witch bitch is going to keep fighting, she ain’t doing it right now. My guess is, that she got a bit hurt from how you didn’t even hesitate with your word play,” she revealed. It was one big fat lie, though. Saga hadn’t pulled away. And not for something as petty. But… he didn’t have to know that.
The demon reached up and grabbed him by his jaw, smudging him with his own blood as she forcefully turned his head to better look at him, look him in the eyes. “So, now, do you mind telling me why it is you’re here? I know you’re here because of what the boss is brewing but… why are you here and not just some of your toy soldiers?” She curiously raised her eyebrows. “Needed a vacation? I doubt it.”

Ah? So the big bad archangel was curious after all. Of course he was. Who wouldn’t be? She certainly would, if she’d known just how much was kept behind closed doors in the witch’s mind. Barely any of them with locks turned, though, to her biggest surprised, as if the ebony haired girl wasn’t the slightest bit concerned of anyone getting in their to scurry around. Like now. How horribly arrogant of her, only to create the hassle of actually opening them all up. Because there sure were a lot.
Saga smiled a bit wider, not having caught suspicion about any hidden agenda for Michael’s supposed curiosity. She had been too eager and too occupied with the sheer thrill of having something he wanted once again. It was such a rush! Like holding a carrot in a string in front of a hungry donkey to get carried up a tall mountain. Of course; she denied him any sweet treats from the witch’s private archives. Instead she simply clicked her tongue at him. Only she hadn’t been able to hold herself back from sweeping through herself in search of something juicy. Something she potentially would throw at the man in the chair when she felt like he needed a new stab of sin. She opened doors. And she left them open in her hast..

Now, the boss? Well, there probably wouldn’t be any problems with answering some questions. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He should be on his way here. Despite his dislike for you I would imagine that he has a message or two for you still. Just be patience, Michael. All in due time,” she said, her voice turning more and more into uncomfortably soft cotton. It was still Saga’s - the real Saga’s vocal cord but ever since the pretend had ended, it nearly no longer sounded the least bit like her. The ups and downs in the tone and the smoothing on the tongue, the purrs of delight. It wasn’t Saga Rhyss. It couldn’t be farther from Saga Rhyss at this point. Even more so when she felt the chills he got from her sensual touch and she no longer could help a playful giggle from sounding out loud. Very pleased with herself, indeed. It sure was tempting to keep going like that. But alas!

The feeling of his muscles tensing up around her fingers were marvelous! The pulsation of the nerve retracting from the immense pain she put them through was just… something else. He didn’t scream this time, sadly, but somehow it didn’t really bother her because the restrain he showcased only made his flesh press tighter around her nimble fingers. Thank god he was a lean man. Excess fat only got in the way of this sensation.
She kept digging her fingers into him. Not necessarily any deeper; she wasn’t planning of puncturing any of his organs.. well.. yet. They had time for that later. “For a while, you say?” Her hand had almost curled completely into a full grip of his ribcage, her fingertip grazing the bone and nails gently scraping at the connective tissue. She pulled up. Not much and not particularly forcefully, although she needed to put some strength into it. “And only now you’re doing something about it? If you ask me, I’d almost think you didn’t actually mind what we were doing until good old heavenly guilt settled in you,” she guessed as she, with a hand by his collarbone, leaned in to anchor herself better for the pull her other hand so agonizingly slow was doing. “I would tell you all about it, really, but I’m sure you’re aware that, you already know a lot more than we like. - Hm?”
That was strange..
While she had been talking, blood had started to tinkle down her right arm in long red streaks, coming from under the dress’ short sleeve where blood already had soaked through the fabric. Even on the back of the arms shoulder, blood was apparently seeping from open cuts. But the strange part was, how the demon hadn’t felt anything of it. Not really. And from the bleeding, they had to be pretty deep cuts too. She had only noticed, when blood had ran all the way down over her underarm and at that point, she was suddenly much more aware of her fingers uncurling and.. pulling out from the warm flesh of the archangel. Brows furrowed in instant annoyance and as soon as she went to dig them back, the hand - no, the whole arm started to shake in strain.

“What the -!!” Eventually the hand was removed and she whipped her eyes up at Michael in an involuntary mix of anger and fright. She stood up quickly. And she staggered. And she fell to the ground. Her legs having become useless and uncooperative. That was when she very faintly would hear mumbling inside her own head. Chanting? No! Fuck no!
The dress was hiding it, but the source of those bleeding wounds, that had suddenly appeared were not simply cuts like the one done to her hand earlier. It was a symbol. A sigil. Not to regain control, but to restrain. Disable. Saga was breathing heavily, her chest jumping frantically. The right arm was now hanging very limp down the side. The other was still hanging in there, keeping her from collapsing by holding a steady straight up in the ground. "ARMANDO!" she yelled out.

The little witch hadn’t yet lost the full extent of her consciousness, however, it was still only holding on by a thread. Her eyes were barely open and even then she didn’t exactly spend her energy on sharpening her sight so they might as well have been closed. Only then, she’d definitely lose consciousness completely. Her hearing was what had pulled on her other weakened senses and allowed her to at the very least hear her the thing happening. The ceiling crashing and the light rumbles falling like rain onto the ground around them. The door breaking through the thick ice and slamming as if kicked right off its hinges by incredible force. And then… the swishing of air as she felt aching body being lifted and swung up in the angel’s strong arms.
It really was a shame, that she wasn’t entirely present. A shame she wouldn’t get the chance to witness the wings grow from his back or to experience the flight of an angel. Being held so closely and so securely into him, all she seemed to be able to focus on was the beating of his heart in his chest. Right there, where her head rested. It was so loud that it even mellowed out the thunders and crashing in the background. It was racing so controlled. Pumping adrenalin and yet never skipping a beat or became irregular. This was the heart of an ancient warrior. And to think it belonged to an angel. A creature so broadly known for peace and harmony.

Her recollection of them arriving - or even the realization of them having gotten so far away that the storming and chaotic weather no longer could be heard or seen in the distance - was very faint but being put down to stand on her own two feet for just a moment, shot her slightly more awake and her eyes wandered rather astounded up to look at the home, he had brought them to. Carefully looking over her shoulder she would also notice the open landscape free of any neighbours for miles. A clean cut change of the scenery of the glitz and glamour of the Marbella Hotel. And of the bustling of Havana city. It really was so… quiet. Apart from the shattering of glass, that had her slowly look back around just in time before being led inside.

While it was a relief to yet again have a chance to not use strength to stand up, laying down on the couch stung horribly as soon as pressure was put on the deep cuts on the back of her shoulder. She shouldn’t have used up the hibernating healing spell on mere scrapes earlier. Had she only known what would’ve happen next… But she would heal. Eventually.
She let her arm hang limp over the edge of the couch and could still feel the sensation of blood slowly gliding down it, albeit it was the most comfortable position to keep it in. Probably just not the best, considering. Perhaps a part of her was worried about losing the remaining feeling in her fingers if she didn’t have gravity pull blood to them - inside her veins, of course. At least had the slash on the top of her hand more or less created fresh scabs. It was only when the archangel broke the silence with his deep voice, that Saga realized that she had closed her eyes again - or more like they had closed up when she had grimaced to the stinging pain and just hadn’t opened up before now. She was conscious enough now to look at him there in the chair with fully alert eyes. How was she feeling? .. Invaded. There were still open doors in her mind to fester that feeling. But no.. Feverish was a much more prominent feeling. It felt like the intense discomfort that came after a bad sunburn. All over her body. It didn’t so much hurt that she was just extremely comfortable. Warm and cold at the same time. “I can still feel my nails scraping at your rib,” she chose to answer with instead. Her voice maybe calm, but had a new raspy layer which she wasn’t much a fan of and quickly tried to get rid of by shallowing a big gulp. She looked down at her hanging hand and twitched her fingertips a little as if to test if she had spoken truthfully. Yes. The sensation was still there. The warmth of his blood, the pulsing of his flesh and.. the bone, like nails to a chalkboard. Then she looked back at him, at that red-soaked area of his shirt where her fingers had been puppeteered to dig in.

She shouldn’t. It would be best for her to stay down for the time being. And yet she clenched her stomach muscles and sat up. Pulling her legs a little up as well to balance on the cushions as she was still positioned horizontally on the couch. “I would’ve never imagine I’d experience being a prisoner in my own mind. Nor for my body to be used like that. I’ve been victim to similar such as manipulation spells but nothing… quite like this.” Taking a deeper breath in, she leaned a little more forward which had her hair fall into the corners of her eye and she finally came to see the unavoidable change herself. She had just been about to lift the hand, that she had kept hanging, up to better inspect the white strands - so strange - when the touch of something soft stroked it and attention automatically fell down to the floor. Of course, what she saw, surprised her but somehow the thing that she could manage to say was a rather composed: “A cat?”

A kitten as black as the night - or by closer inspection: dark brown - had crept from somewhere in the empty house and was warily sniffing her bloodied fingers. It had semi-long hair. Ragged and weathered so it couldn’t have been a part of the household but must’ve snuck in much like the two battered induvial. Saga curled her fingers enough for the kitten to no reach. She didn’t want it to start licking the blood…

No.
Saga had fallen into a veiled existence and dwelled in her own thoughts for the time, Michael had left the room. First to release the stray and then seemingly having a change of heart; to the little witch’s silence and unexpected relief. She would’ve probably continued, eventually even drifting off to an exhausted state where she’d balance between simple unconsciousness and sleep, if it hadn’t been for what he said. He’d take her home? She lifted her head, regaining presence and turned to look at him stand by the window. The intensity of those blue eyes of hers hadn’t gotten weaker by the exhaustion she felt. Surprisingly enough. Her white brows were knitted in between in lack of understanding. Maybe even a faint hint of actual disbelief. She looked away from him again. “I do prefer flying,” she replied, however leaving it at a very clear path of more to come. She wouldn’t even need to utter to word ‘but’ without strongly it hanged in the air around. In her mannerism as well as her words. And sure enough. “But no.” It was spoken with a firm tone in the midst of the weakened and soft cushioning of her voice. Much like him, there wasn’t any room for negotiations in her objection either.
She then first pulled a leg closer to her to then move it over the edge of the couch and stretch to meet with the floor. Her eyes were still not directed at him, although she could feel him looking at her. “I’m not oppose to resting and healing up; only that we finish here first before going home. I would understand if it was because you saw me as a hindrance but somehow I don’t think it’s entirely just that. If anything.. I wish to stay. To look into my father.” At last she looked up to meet him once more. Emotions didn’t linger by Saga very strongly but they were still there. Like the swirls of determination in the bleakness.

“I’ll need your help cleaning the wound on my back, though. They’ll heal up better that way since I doubt I’d be able to cast any spells myself right now.” Or on herself. Her body was far too sensitive at the moment to put it through anything of that sort. Even if it was magic and magic might just be the most natural for a pureblooded witch. She moved the non-injured hand across her chest and up to the most concentrate part of the blood soaked area. Carefully she tried peeling at the fabric, both to test just how much it was sticking to the bleeding sigil and to hopefully release it to air out the wound. “I’d rather not that it leaves any scars,” she then elaborated after sucking air through her teeth and eventually leaving the wound and T-shirt dress alone to instead let her eyes wander around the room. Looking to the kitchen, where she could hear the kitten smack it’s lips in the tuna still, and towards other doors leading to unknown rooms. Essentially she was searching. “The house should have a bath room, correct?” She looked to Michael as if he’d know although the house surely was as unfamiliar to him as to her. They hadn’t planned this retreat after all.

She didn’t wait for him to agree to helping her - she practically had concluded that he wasn’t going deny - so she began making way to stand up. Her legs weren’t happy around that. Nor was the rest of her, really. Her arm was shaking from the moment she even tried putting enough supporting weight on it.

No objections from his side, which was kind of surprising. If anything, as he led her to the bathroom, she couldn’t help but think back to what had almost seemed like relief rather than simple exhausted compliancy to her rejection and he would surely have been able to feel her eyes looking at him as they went down the hall. Only when it was time for her to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, did her gaze flow away from him again without having had any luck in fully making sure of what she had sensed. She didn’t dwell further in it after that, though. Especially not as she felt his fumbling by her lower back.

The porcelain of the bathtub had been cold by the first touch against her bare thighs but it had been a nice feeling, combatting the feverish heat that must’ve covered her body like a blanket. She positioned herself better, turned herself slightly more away from Michael at the same pace as he began lifting the shirt-dress higher and higher. “A restriction spell of sorts. There wasn’t much I could do to the demon itself so I thought restricting the body could give me a window. Give you a window somehow,” she answered casually, thinking he meant what she had done to stop the demon from ripping him apart and ultimately give him the chance to break free. She had already expected to have to undress entirely since she knew exactly where the sigil was placed; she had placed it there herself, after all - and even before the dress had been lifted all the way up to her neck, she had gently crossed her arms and reached around to grab it to eventually pull it over her head. Groaning only faintly to the pains of moving the inflamed shoulder around as much. The angel had seen her back once before like this so there really weren’t any harm in showing it again but still she made sure that she kept her front covered all the way through. Hugging the dress against her chest - and décolletage area. It didn’t matter that it got wet by water running the wrong way over her shoulder or around her sides.
Unsurprisingly, it stung as soon as the water ran over the deep cuts and the little witch involuntarily sucked in air and both arched her back one way and then the other as she got used to the sensation. Then it started to feel better. Her shoulders even sank as she took a well-deserved calming breath. She watched as reddish water gathered in the bottom of the tub and seeped by her feet into the drain. She watched it turn a lighter and lighter pink until the water ran clear. The would still bleed. It would for a bit but it was clean now; she could feel it oxygenating properly. Sensing the angel stepping away, having done his job, she turned her head over the shoulder to sneak a peek to what he was doing in the exact moment she was handed a towel which caught her enough of guard that she looked puzzled for a good second before accepting it and then watched him leave without her having a chance to verbally thank him. Again.
She sat there for a good while, still looking towards the door. Then down at the towel. Then she finally stood up. She was still very wobbly and she had to stat seated when swing her legs over onto the bathroom floor. She tossed the dress to the side and wrapped herself in the towel, careful not to do it too high or too tightly. Actually, it would definitely fall if she didn’t keep a hold of it at front where she had tugged the ends in. She was still plenty covered, though. She was a tiny bit hesitant to step in front of the bathroom mirror. The shower hadn’t been running for so long that it had fogged up so when she looked she had a clear view to the price of her strain. It was so strange. Much more so than she had imagined. Turning her head to look at herself in different angles it only became stranger. She didn’t even look at the smaller injuries or the dirt still on her face and body. Only the white hair. She looked like the big portrait of her grandmother that hang in her childhood home’s study. Just younger. Her brows furrowed in indecisiveness.

Knock knock.. Instinctively, Saga turned her head away from her reflection and to the door where a little later she was met with the returning archangel. The clothes he had been able to find were, at first glance, far from anything she would’ve chosen herself but after a short moment of scepticism, her expression instead softened to an amused little smile.
She shook her head to his question before looking at him. “No. I should be alright for now.” She repositioned herself to stand front to front with him, not yet giving any indication that she was going to get changed. More so she looked at him as if there was more she wanted to talk with him about. Or just say to him. However she had to fill her chest with collecting air before her lips parted again. “You asked me how I was feeling. And I didn’t exactly answer,” she pointed out. “… I do that.” The word sorry wasn’t anywhere near her tongue and yet this was probably the closest one would get to an apology. She wetted her lips. “I’m in quite a lot of pain. Not only the cuts. My skin feels like it’s burning up still. But besides physical..” If possibly her eyes looked closer into him and once again did the corners of her mouth pull into a sweet smile. “I’m fine. I might be wrong but it seems like your worry that what happened would affect me. Traumatize me.” Her head tilted slightly. “It won’t.” She slowly lowered her eyes over him. Scanning for possibly injuries which his clothes hid, only snitched on by the wet red patches. “Have you healed??”

Ah. He didn’t believe her. She could her it in his voice. In the way he formulated his words. But I’m happy to hear that you feel that way. It really wasn’t that complicated, but just how was she supposed to convey what she really meant to him? He already had a firm view of things. Was it due to how she had told a lie earlier? But even then, it hadn’t been a complete lie. She couldn’t fully understand what made it difficult for him to simply take her word for it. To her it was straight forward. And… why would she lie? Was he willing to hold unto the worry he felt for her? Was that it? She kept quiet after that. Not to let him believe what he wanted – although there was some of that involved – but she was also wrapped with a feeling of a losing battle if she was to continue. Saga Rhyss wasn’t one to jump head first into a losing battle, after all. And yet it lingered like many other micro-observations she had collected about Michael. Some of which were turning less and less into simple information gathering.
As the gentle relief of knowing that his extremely impressive natural healing ability hadn’t failed him yet, she gave him a befitting gentle nod before carefully stepping slightly to the side and made way for him. Of course it caught her a bit off guard, when he suddenly pulled of his shirt right then and there – there was a very good explanation and reasoning for it, but still; she hadn’t expected it. However, since he – on multiple accounts now – showed he didn’t mind the exposure, she didn’t make and effort in sneaking peeks at him. She didn’t stare or anything, but she did look him over. She remembered clearly where he had been hurt, so those places were the main areas, she checked. And as one could only await, not even a scratch or a red patch. Then he spoke and for some reason, she averted her eyes more to the side, holding the towel knot a little tighter. “I’ll take the couch,” she answered back, looking back just in time to meet with him glancing in her direction. It seemed the most obvious. She had already gotten blood on it and for what she remembered it was just as comfortable than a bed would be.

When she got out of the bathroom, turning off the lights and bringing the floral dress with her into the open space of the living room, Michael was already behind closed doors. The black kitten, he had been too empathetic to actually throw back outside, was tiptoeing out of the kitchen as she passed by and was quick to find her bare ankles to rub up against. She’d think it’ll have favoured the angel. It had been him who gave it food.
It followed her all the way back to the couch where she sat down with a sigh of relief. It was awfully silent in the house now. Empty, although she knew she wasn’t alone. More spacious than her home too. The silence and lonesomeness only worked to amplify just how tired she was. Both in body and mind. She still wasn’t much for putting on the dress – the wound hadn’t closed up and would only have the fabric stick to it. She glances around, not actually knowing which way the master bedroom was, but she could confirm that Michael wasn’t anywhere in line of sight. She wasn’t shy, but he seemed to be – another thing she didn’t understand – so best to let the towel fall when he wasn’t near. Only one more thing to do after that. With a hand held up and faint, nearly soundless words spoken a veil of something invisible spread and settle over the whole farm house. She didn’t need it as much – her presence wasn’t a strong one – but if they were to hope for uninterrupted rest, they needed this. A magical hide. People on the outside shouldn’t be able to sense any of them. Not even the cat nor the spiders in the corner. She had held on to enough magic – not for this but in case she’d needed to fend of demons – but there were no demons to fend of now so she couldn’t see why not make some precautions now that she was able to.

Saga was out almost as soon as her head hit the cushion. She had barely gotten the blanket properly up over her shoulder or tugged her legs up to where she felt the safest when sleeping, before she was out and on her way to a dreamless and restful sleep. Curled up facing the backrest to not lay on the wound. The kitten had taken the liberty of snuggling up as well. Having managed to jump onto the couch and curled up itself in the small space between her stomach and the couch, in the nook of her tugged up arms. The witch was peacefully and utterly unaware of the commotion outside later into the night.

Reuben couldn’t see much through the windows. It was dark inside, that was about it. And it looked very empty. But he knew it wasn’t. Even with his daughters nifty cloaking spell – smart girl. He had really tried not to make any noise; it just turned out that luck wasn’t on his side any more. Not his alertness either! While he did sense the angelic man rushing in on him, he only got to turn his head, before getting slammed down unto the ground with strength you’d expect from an ancient warrior of God.
It forced all air out of his lunges which automatically made him cough – the knee in the stomach didn’t help much, honestly - as he opened his eyes and look into the aggressive face of the arch angel. “Greetings to you too, alter Freund,“ he sputtered, attempting to bring out an apologetic smile. A bit cheeky perhaps. “One of those demons, I’m guessing?” Getting freed, the scruffy-looking, raven haired witch get up again with stiffened movements. There were a reason people warned you about messing with someone like Michael, that was for sure. Reuben should be happy that he had a sturdier build than humanoid species. He let out a silent “Arh” as he took to his sore back for a second. Reuben Rhyss was, by appearance, probably in his mid-forties. But besides that, and his male features, there was truth to those who said, him and his daughter looked alike. The same thick black hair that curled ever so slightly. The same ocean blue eyes. Same jawline and pale-rosy lips. In addiction Reuben had grown a beard. Usually, it was stubbly than it was now; grown full and gave him a few more years. He wasn’t dirty, per se, but he sure looked like a man who hadn’t been home for a long time. Clothing wise he had adapted to the Cuban weather. Loose button-up shirt and a pair of knee-length shorts.
“You tell me first; what the hell are you doing with my daughter, Michael? Here, of all places,” he blurted out as he had gotten back on his feet and pointed an arm toward the house – into the house, keeping his voice low but still getting some of the frustration through. “When did you two even get to know each other? She’s barely 350!..” Which meant an adult in multiple ways. But when was one’s little girl ever really old enough?

~