#hellfeather

Maybe a couple thousand years ago she might have flinched back from the approaching mass. Maybe even further back she would have bared her teeth at every misconceived threat invading her presence including this one.

Only but a couple years ago she thought she could get away with an artfully formed grin and silver-tongued lies. From a history of never being able to. Having to find fancy work arounds to twist tales for convenience and safety. Oh how good she was, when the shackle lifted and she could simply say something false.

Fenix does not try now, not with this one.

Dare say she does not want to.

Experience and the weight on her shoulders makes it abundantly clear it won't work; nor will it be tolerated in this moment.

Lips do peel back over sharp teeth as she's adjusted and moved, the gleam of sharp edges less a threat at his handling and more a hint of unguarded emotion, the swell of her neck expanding and sinking with a swallow. A pulse of bioluminescence from temple to down under the layers of her attire.

A keen leaves her when he gives her what she wants, willing in this instance to not hide in the shred of brief vulnerability.

Perhaps later she could feel ashamed or embarrassed.

"...Maybe I just like hearing you say my name." It's a shot of habitual and self-deflecting humor on a voice uncharacteristically hoarse. Teeth finally clicking as her mouth shuts. She feels raw, scraped across the coals- thankful in this moment that her wings are not visible, exposed enough as is.

Claws lift as if to touch, to join, twitching in hesitation just shy of the white of his coat. There had not been hesitation in touching him in a long time.

There is a who at fault here, it's clear enough in the jolting interactions and reactions and centuries of familiarity. Teeth grind in a painful grate, just to ease at tracing fingertips, a huff of frustrated air ruffling blond strands looming above.

Claws halt briefly on something glassy and blue, contemplating but not quite looking down at the mass of scales abruptly on her during a focused crafting session.

"I seem to have picked up a new fashion piece." The words come a few moments later, after a hiss of heat from her fingers, tapering an edge off on her project, still glowing a bright crimson gold. Now her attention flicks down, half-lidded, entirely relaxed for once it would seem, and she pushed her weight to one side, hip jutting just so; giving him a better grasp to perch on.

There's no lacking trust in the being speaking to her, not a speck of it. How frightful an idea at times. There is plenty in herself though, a distaste for recent behavior whether she had control or not at the time. Her ability required precise control after all; and there was no shortage of self cruelty she could imagine and had done before for slip ups and faltering. How tempting they could be, how intrusive the pull felt at times.

Deserved in mind, when there's no doubt company would argue otherwise.

"Mm." For a moment its non-committal, she doesn't let her gaze drift to a specific spot to give much away. She's tense enough, closing her space up far earlier in the damned day, and more often as of late in general. Avoidance or wavering energy; they'd spoken, they'd talked, though she had been aggravated by any idea of comfort.

It looked better today, and yet she didn't not move forward herself, sharp fingers drawing over a finished token of clothing for her little shop before sliding it away and out of sight into storage.

"Do I?" Rampant stubbornness between the two could crack eventually in one party and a green eye landed on him. What was usually a predatory aligned stare was lethargic slightly. Not just harming a loved one but other stressors added up, habitual need to bottle and work on herself, by herself.

The years with the King of Hell himself had altered some things, even if old habits died hard. But progress showed in not leaving for now, in not requesting to be left alone like the last while.

Perhaps it would be embarrassing later. As useless of a feeling as that was. Safety, comfort, still ever foreign despite how long it had been. Panic felt like such an infantile reaction, heating the back of her neck with agitation that would devolve into shame later. Feelings to wrestle with and come to terms in time.

So rarely does she apologize, rarely does she do anything that needs apologizing for. But the noise that leaves her is just that, as teeth retract from skin. It is the fact of hurting him, it was clearly not purposeful; simply the action of it enough, the acidic sensation on her tongue nailing in the concern. Forehead falls to press against white cloth, teeth gritting hard enough to creak as roiling emotion struggles to temper itself. Waves in a storm that were gradually breaking.

How silly it felt to lose control like that. It shouldn't, she knew to some degree, emotions were there and they could function as they pleased. It did not deter the sour taste in her mouth nor the palpitations in her chest in dual erratic throb. The desire to run is there, warring with the desire to fix now that the hallucination and fog was dissipating. Green hues flick up briefly then back to the damage, a guttural groan passing her teeth.

"..."

"Nah." Blatant lies was a hilarious concept. The amused, short woman chuffing from her place behind her own little shop counter before beckoning him closer.

Yes she did, and it shows when she catches his hand and deposits a little glass blown apple in his palm, humming pleasantly at him.

It's not an incredibly important conversation, enough to make the habitual lack of listening expected. Comfortable, familiar. She's good at talking, filling the silence, has been good at it for stars know how long at this point.

It's also expected to pick fun at the habit, narrow eyes locking on royalty, lips parted just to pause as he speaks first.

The pulse of electric blue flicks through her stripes, the one real hint that whatever he's pulling has any actual effect on the fellow fallen besides moderate amusement and vague mischief.

"Put those teeth away, heathen." Scathingly affectionate, scolding, her teeth itch as they often do when faced with something she finds cute and doesn't feel like tolerating the warmth it blooms in her gut.

To tempt is his talent and for here; he has to try harder.