Teresa already felt a ghost of yet another smirk dancing upon her lips, especially as she felt the way her was observing her, assessing her – almost as if he preyed upon her ( as if anyone could prey upon her, the creature of pure darkness and, what ignorant people called, witchcraft, leaving destruction in her wake, as if h e could possibly match to her or could he, perhaps? ). The thought almost brought an amused glint in her eye, but she managed to restrain herself in time, cocking her eyebrow as he called her sweetheart ( that was certainly the first, and from a familiar stranger ) , this time amusement evident in her dark eyes, but she let those words slide, for a moment, focusing instead solely on the way he observed her.
There was similarity in his manners, it was almost like a reflection, the scent of cold, dead things lurking in the dark almost too seductive – she felt like numerous eyes were watching her again, not just his, but she refused to turn around and scout for the shadows which she felt all around her ( sometimes it was better to not acknowledge them, as they usually brought more death, more pain and screaming, Gods above and below so much screaming it threatened to shatter her brain, but now she was too consumed by the stranger to care for the dead ). At his question, Teresa shrugged, inching closer to where he was, under that piece of dead electronics and metal, and she tilted her head to the side, shifting her focus from the intoxicating man to the junk he was working around. “Perhaps I am just a stranger. For now.” She quietly added, her voice low and smooth, as if she tried to not summon the dead with her dulcet voice.
Tess smirked, gracefully plopping onto the floor beside him, reaching her hand to nudge him slightly to the side – it was in that moment that she felt infinite number of deaths all at once. She zoned out, her eyes turning somewhat glassy, distant, as her mouth hung open in a surprised, breathless ‘o’. It felt almost electrifying, sweet, sweet power of d e a t h pulsing though her veins, mixing with her gift to bring the same dead back to life ( such numerous possibilities; all the people she could enact her vengeance upon, like that cursed village, kill them and revive them and repeat it over and over and over again ) , but as she moved her hand from his shoulder, she snapped back to reality. Tessa was quick to react, extending her hand for the screwdriver. “I might be able to help. I know a thing or two about electronics, and this should be fairly easy.”
Teresa chuckled, ducking under the jukebox, inspecting the damage. A few loose wires, a couple of mismatched screws… It will take but a moment of her time. “I am more used to being the dragon, but if your Highness needs saving… I will be happy to charge in, all heroic and noble.” She retorted somewhat sarcastically, cocking her head so she could see him, and flash him an amused smile.
For now, he agreed. The words weren’t strictly verbal but the intent was sharp in the way his eyes fell upon hers, in his ever so slight cant of the head, and the lick of tongue over dry lips. He had never been so sure in his life that he was in the right place, at the right time, perhaps damnation to the diner wasn’t quite so bad after all. He could smell it, the reek of her dirty little secret, the stench of death that surely would’ve hung about her like a dark aura if their gifts were physical. She was not death, exactly, he was sure of that, familiar but markedly different. Proteus couldn’t fathom the reason why that might be — even before she grasped onto him he had his answers. Life and death were a cycle, she was not Spring, but a God for meddling with what had already been done. In the year of his birth, she’d have have been known as a witch but he knew she was so much more — greater.
At the dig of her nails he felt it then, the jolt of revival, as if his body was a corpse electrified alive for her pleasure. “Swe—-” He started, the smooth purr of his voice clipped short as the hand on his shoulder remained. It was instinctual to reign the ripple of darkness in, he kept a tight lid on the monsters within to save the sweet innocent souls that littered Eden. ( They owed him for that. ) But this was different, for one finite reason, so for a single tenuous heartbeat he let go. The scream of a thousand souls he’d sent below, and above, screeched through his pale body. Overcome by the sickly sweet pulse of power intertwined with death that made up his very essence. Not soul, Proteus Babikov had never had one of those.
Then, without warning her hand was gone. “The knights were never as sweet as the ones you read about in fairy-tales,” he challenged, breathless. Effortlessly, despite his inner turmoil, he let a bemused grin form. “I’ll happily have a dark knight, if that suits you better.” Proteus cocked a brow at her, this was no longer about what she could do for him in the greater plan. He wanted nothing more than to pull her apart, and put her back together again, perhaps. To destroy and be destroyed. He was certain this was mutual, he could see it in her eyes. The familiar look of a predator, there was a certain — carnal quality about her dark luminous gaze. Proteus sat back against the wall, not shying from the pleasure he took observing as she ducked into the jukebox’s electronic innards. “Wouldn’t want to ruin this Dark Lady of the Hour look.”
“Fix it and I’ll get you a drink, on the house.”
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