There was no edge of discomfort to the way the man lounged behind bars, his boots crossed at the heel while back curved away from where bench met with wall. If the odor bothered him, or the iron that separated him from freedom, it did not show. In fact, his focus was distracted, musing perhaps over the conversation that had led him here, where honesty should have been tempered with more lies, where anything with tits and a simpering story of tragedy won more allowance than hard evidence.

It had been his intent to manipulate the cogs already driving the Justice machine of Bree, oil and turning the monstrosity to mow down his enemies. It was becoming overly complicated though, drawn out… And he tired of any hunt that only had whimpering and mutilated near corpse of some petty child thief at the end. Certainly he could lose himself in all the things that could be done to her before death stole away such a delightful toy, but that would not elevate him to an immortal ability to turn her entire life into suffering and fear.

Death was too kind for the measure of inconvenience she had caused him. He had tried avoidance, forgiveness, mercy. And none of them felt quite so good as the thrum of her pulse underneath his fingers as they dug in, bruising just a little more as if the hitched breaths he provoked through thick sobs were coaxed out of her lungs with every brutal fingerprint he left… ---- Much time has passed since she last saw the dingy streets of Bree town, the folk just as ordinary as before and that includes those missing teeth and wearing rags that pass for proper clothing. The sun is low in the sky and the smell of rain wafts from over the nearby hills - a storm is coming. The sound of her heeled boots can be heard atop the cobbles as she passes through the guarded entry to the jail. Both men shift their eyes at her, but they say nothing. When the heavy door creaks open, she announces her presence in the dim light with her striking beauty. Wearing fitted leggings and a loose, white tunic, her hair falls much longer now down across the fine fabric. Her skin is fresh, her eyes alert. It is quiet, save for the sounds of an evening meal being eaten. A bearded man wearing chain holds a meaty leg in one hand, a goblet of wine in the other, and a grin on his face once he sets eyes upon the dark haired lady. He nods once and fills his mouth with chicken, allowing her time to pace the floor and inspect those in each cell. ----- The click of boot heel merged with the crackle and pop of a fire that had burned somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory of someone whispering in his ear, ‘Blackthornes don’t wear ink’ before they slid a skinning knife underneath his flesh and began to pull apart pieces of him. Somewhere he remembered the last confines he had suffered, a table and straps of leather instead of iron bars. These, at least, he could suffer. The thought of ever being truly trapped like that again terrified him. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat of the acrid taste of fear and bile the thoughts had provoked, swerving back into the present with eyes opening to settle on the figure peering in at him like an animal through the bars.

A foot lifted, settled over one knee…

And he smiled, while hands slid behind his neck and he regarded her wordlessly, letting the way his eyes settled upon her speak volumes for how he wished to be free in that moment. ----- "Word had reached my ears... how could I not come and see for myself?" She murmurs, her mouth very close to the iron separating them. The torchlight shines behind her and frames her silhoutte for him to recognize. She listens to the noise of two men fighting and the key master swearing for locking them in the same cell. Her mouth curves upright at the momentary distraction. Large and leisurely steps guide her forward and along the length of his cell, her movements akin to prowling. With a low and teasing voice, she calls to him, "Such a satisfied look you bear. Do you enjoy the perpetual stench?" ----- Closer. Closer still. He let her curve her step until toes kissed the bars and he could see the faint light paint streaks in the shadows holding her features in anonymity. The smile reached his eyes, something set farther behind the color regarded her hungrily as it paced and both man and the inhuman sum of his parts found their feet at a languid pace to join her.

The separation had been much kinder on her beauty.

Stubble lined his hard-jawline and scalp, having escaped the razors edge for almost a month now, the black hair was raven’s wing straight and coarse save where it silvered here and there. His arm, his side, his back, all wrapped in bandages, so that when he moved, he did so with a lack of fluidity, an old dog licking his wounds in the dank confines of a kennel. It made it more difficult for him to win someone over with honeyed words, coin spared for a couple drinks, an offer to walk a nice girl home so nothing bad happened to her.

However, it looked like the man was well beyond niceties. The cruelty she had coaxed to the surface in the past, always held back on a tight leash slavering while the man cursed, even as he grabbed her while she laughed at how desperately he held onto being human… The chain had broken some time ago, and now there was murder in the smile he flashed, matching her purr with lowly growl, “The company has dramatically improved, so I will overlook the stench. A pleasure, as always, Miss Adyfan.” ----- She maintains the smirk, her lip twitching even at the sight of his injured self. Two gloved hands raise to grasp the bars between them, her fingers curling firmly around each. "Let me guess..." Leather fists slide gently down the bars before rising again in a slow motion. "Your dear, sweet, innocent girl was manhandled and you lost a fight." She raises her brows, not waiting for a reaction before she speaks again. "No, that could not be it. By the look of you, you were overpowered... though not in the way you might like to be." Her right hand slips between two bars and curls outward to him, drawing him closer with an enticing pull. "Come to me." Her chin lowers as she utters the three words. Arguing can still be heard from across the jailhouse, and now others have joined in with their own hollering and racket. One guard sits upright with his head tilted back, the unmistakeable sound of snoring vibrating the corner of the room.

-----

To her beck and call, he dropped his head, until the cheek brushed against her gloved knuckles and his exhale was on the humored expression her lips bore. “My dear, sweet, innocent /wife/ is no longer a great many of those things. I tired of being gentle.”

The inhale he savored was not shy in pulling ever hint of freedom off her clothing that he could, the wildness and road sweat still in her pores from places he would much rather be and journeys he may now never conquer.

When he released it in a sigh, he was no longer smiling, her inquiry parried with opaque truths, “…And a great many things have happened to me since we last spoke. Most of them have diminished my ire for your trespasses and former rudeness concerning the defacement of my /things/.” His hands fell over her own, curling around the bars in time as he offered up with a tilt of his head, “Are you here to kill me too? The list grows ever longer.”

-----

"I am not here to kill you, what a waste of my energy." She breathes out these low words as she leans in closer. Her focus is trained on his eyes and her hips find their way to the rusting bars, opposite his own. "Where is your pretty wife? I would have thought she would be here... hopelessly clinging to you through these wretched bars. I may have to pay her a visit soon."

Her lip curls up at the thought of his precious play thing, a young woman she has not seen or heard about for a long time. He would not share then, and now there would be little choice in the matter. "You tired of being gentle... you claimed what is yours... and about time, I was doubting your ability to get it up." Now her eyes flick downwards but her stance is as strong as ever.

-----

“A dove may fly with crows and maintain her white plumage, but the inside blackens…” The ‘s’ trailed into a lowly hiss, noting the weight of the iron change as heat from her hips just out of touch made his breath catch and his teeth flash. “…I kicked her out of the nest and forced her to fly South. The Oathsworn were most displeased. We have not been on the best terms since my return.”

The horrors Cyndyn had seen when the forests and fields blackened and the desert sands battered her pale cheeks had been horrific, and more than capable of hardening a person in a different way than the man now shifted uncomfortably with a curse in that same Southern dialect rolling off his tongue. Off one bar, his hand freed to reach for her chin, tilting it up with a low whistle before he admitted with the smile returned, “I fucked many a whore that looked like you, but none of them had those eyes. Dark as black water and crueler than the edge of any blade, you were something I did not deserve to take when I had the chance.”

-----

"The mighty Oathsworn are never pleased, and Thorvall gets softer and slower as each day passes, much like an aging dog - he will soon be easy to overcome. Daring of you... to take her so far from their reach." With the last word spoken, she frees her chin just barely of his grasp. "Pity you did not listen to me, though I am pleased to hear that I am burned into your mind."

Her words come out as near whispers now, despite the low chance of the guard waking. The constant noise from across the jailhouse does not cease, and the bars between them become more pronounced every minute. When her hands are free, they roam down the iron to rest by her thighs, but they do not stay - instead they snake their way into the cell to hover closely by his groin.

"You have missed me..." The power in her voice is crisp and evident.

-----

It was wise, to move her head just a touch, for when her hand fell his calloused palm was reaching out to pull her closer. A coat edge, a tunic hem, he would take whatever he could get his claws into and pull her against him even as iron burned their cheeks and his lips sought her own. There was only brandy on his tongue and campfire smoke still in his lungs, tobacco in the stubble of his chin and sweat on his lips, nothing elegant or gentle about what was left of him, just musculature and a hate he sought to devour her with until their teeth clicked. Regardless of her likely evasion, he was already trying to tangle his fingers in her hair, baring her throat so tongue could lap at her pulse and hard hands could rip her to pieces… He had practiced on so many that weren’t her, not quite her, just like Adyfan could never really be the thing he needed to sink his teeth into. But she would do. For now.

-----

She had felt sting of desperation in the hands of men before, and now the only difference was how terribly he intrigued her. Her head tilts back at the rough pulls of his quick hands and her tunic soon opens at the cleavage, leaving bare skin for his eyes and mouth to consume. Pressing tightly to the unmoving bars, her fair skin soon reddens. She allows him to have what little control he can - only to take it away with a raised hand to his throat. She squeezes lightly to bring him back to her lips. As quickly as his hands move upward, so does her body shift so that her back is against him.

"You must calm before you can claim..." She utters, her body lowering slightly and her hips swaying against him. There is control and yet force is felt in her movements. She is playing.