#multipalz

ChoMP CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP CHOM -

If Eve were a child, such as she acted, she would have been devoured on the spot with her bones preened of any ligaments that may have been hidden.

Fortunately, she wasn't.

The younger soul's laughing elicited smiles from the dark queen, who kept her near and protected upon her shoulder.

" Oh, absolutely. I wish to show you something. Perhaps broaden your horizons. Don't worry a pretty little strand growing from your head. "

It was quite impressive. Eve had never been afraid of her. However, Lilith really hadn't given reason for such yet to come fruit.

@multipalz @deathinfeathers

Send in ✏️ and I’ll use this (improved) incorrect quote generator featuring both our muses! / Always accepting!

"And what if I refuse? Would I be resisting a-breast?"

"PFFF- she said BREAST, now!! Fuckin' classic."

"Hey, so..." He was going to tell her eventually. Maybe never- it wasn't like it was really a secret that he was blazing a trail of blistered pride through the pits of his funeral pyre yet to be attended by its guest of honor. Even if there were those skeptics who were quite sure he was dead and some domineering few imps in a trench coat were currently impersonating him in an artistic expression of how the mighty fall and how the mighty are probably just a rat pack disguised in skin, it didn't change how authentic the experience of encountering him outside a dive bar gig was- nor the pressing need for those looking to bash hell's past collective pain point. Even if he was just a couple of imps in a trench coat... pinatas were bitchin'.

"I sort of- maybe? Kind of- not really fucked up? Uh-?!" A flinch has the feathers fastened near his temples drawing flat against his head when her hands grasp either side of their mooring to draw him in. "Eve, wait! My fucking-" Too late. Her face bonks unceremoniously with the nubby growths above his brows, and given the usual strength of her affectionate skull bashes, he's left dumbfounded and stiffly frozen to the spot while he waits to see if any indiscernible red streams start running down her face.

It had been a longer excursion than most the commanding archangel brought members of the 778's mortal-made on, and an unexpected but not unwelcome fray from a band of demonic mercenaries if only because their uncontestable leader was always one to welcome experience gathering for those that marched in the collosal shadow of his wingspan.

Of course, even when they were briefed beforehand to expect engagements with hell's forces, Abel never really understood the reasons why each battle unfolded as they did, nor did his absence of interest drive him to implore Michael later about what warranted an engagement in the first place. He wasn't one to perform optimally with too many working parts to consider when his own talent of detecting and transporting the wounded with him to a mending distance was so far removed from understanding why things happened other than the human translation that simplified it down to 'a reason'. An abstract concept like that was one's best defense against a being that tended to take words at their literal meaning. After all, it is easier to say no thank you to a walk with one's brother when the walk was actually something else entirely.

So when Michael told him to 'while we're down here-' go and see his Ma, well- he didn't consider the notion that he ought to clean up first. Still begrimed with the battle, he'd headed right over to where he now knew was his mother's dwellings nestled in a quiet corner of the hellscape and left the imprint of his fist in blood on the front door after giving it a couple of inquisitive knocks. Before it swung open, he noted some potted plants on the porch..tropical and still wilting a bit. To be expected in the overly warm temperatures, he surmised. The couple of cactuses looked healthy though.

Still eyeing the collection when the door finally parted its jamb, Abel only snapped to attention when another hesitant knock curled his knuckles through the air beyond the doorframe. With a blink, he met the startled gaze beyond nearly equal with his own and felt the patter beyond the breastplate of his armor miss it's pitter. Perhaps he...should have washed up first.

"...bad time?" He wondered, armor clinking with the subtle slump of his shoulders. "I can come back-" Or maybe not-...not with her grasping the plate over his elbow and tugging him along into the humble stead she'd made in the depths of hell. And now he was tracking the slimy outlines of his boots along it as he followed her, half limping, in. He remained quiet, but his gear clanged in protest as she finally turned and tugged an arm to drop him onto the nearest chair in her kitchen. The urge to tuck his legs up under him and rock the seat between its front and back supports like he'd done in the past while watching her create something remotely edible for dinner passed quick enough, though it takes the chill of a cold rag pressed to the drying blood on his temple to coax the spacey blank canvas in his gaze and cause the light of recognition to blossom back in familiar golden hues.

"You really don't have to do that-" He added, a hand poised as if to catch her wrist, but then unfolded and raised between her dabbing and his cheek like an unconvincing shield. "We usually hose off back at base, but I didn't think they'd let me back down after the fact."

A sheepish smile wormed it's way into the guilty corner of his lips, though a sputtery 'pluh!!?' dismisses it when the grimey rag drags over his mouth after his hand repelled the cheek cleaning a few times too many.

"Ma-aaa...! Really now-" But he lets her anyway, gripping the edges of the chair tight to endure the fate tied to the end of a mother's spitty napkin he didn't really mind if it meant spending what little time there was left before the withdrawal of the commander's squadron. "Who's Tired? You have a roommate now?" He mused, turning his head out of range from each dabbing attempt as he used the opportunity of a quickly changing line of sight to observe the little points of domestic interest around her place.

When he spots a miniature model of a lighthouse on a shelf above her sink, he finally holds still and lets her quiet fussing take him whichever direction she sees fit like the ever changing currents of limbo's sea around its collection of souls.

"Sometimes I think that maybe it chose me." The thought spills through as hapless as beams of light breaking the rough surface of a churning ocean in an attempt at coaxing the lost above water for a breath delayed. "Commander Michael did come for me after all. I owe him that much."

A sad smile nettles across pursed lips upon hearing her concerns. As it stood, there wasn't much either of them could do to alleviate those worries. But he'll catch her hand once it pauses against his temple and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Ma. You can't lose me if you put me in your pocket." Yes. Yes he did just poke a finger into her pocket. "See~?"