RP:Fox on the Hunt

This is a continuation of Yule Parade 2019 between Eleanor and Leoxander.

Summary: The Yule Parade may have been intended to punctuate the passing of the longest night, but for a pair of rogues with a long and complicated history, the longest night was just beginning. Eleanor and Leoxander find themselves repeating the same tired patterns of tense silences and angry nonapologies until they reach a boiling point, and bruised hearts are laid out on the proverbial table. As the dust settled, it didn't seem like Closure was among the needs being addressed anymore. The older wolf knew, however, that despite the (selfish and insane) words being spoken, the damage between them still had yet to be repaired. As such, Leo allowed himself to be drawn back to Rynvale and his unfinished business—but not before leaving El's urgent, unspoken demands with a heated, whiskered promise.

Southeast Cenril

Leoxander knew his next step would be a foolish one. It was the lead to a slow walk after the path the spellrogue had taken, with another swift drink of 'medicine.' Usually when his brain sent that knotted, sinking feeling in his gut he obeyed and dodged whatever punishment he knew to avoid. Damn her, if that simple gesture had him trailing her like a clueless hound investigating a quill backed rodent. Judging her mood, those spines were definitely ready to wound if he got too close. But there he was, attempting to get near enough to offer whatever he’d been nursing in that flask, since they’d shared some germs before. Nothing free, of course, not so much of a peace offering as it was a trade, as he motioned on her person where he knew her to carry her smokes, in the past, or where that vague scent of blend came from. He’d already spoken, which was an unusual start, for Leo. So he waited silently for her to chime in.

Eleanor continued to stalk south, her long cloak flapping around her legs, shadows like tendrils shifting around her feet. She felt like her whole body was shaking with whatever she kept boiling beneath the surface; rage, frustration, confusion … But even beneath those layers were emotions she even more desperately wanted to keep buried. El knew Leo was following, even as she faced ahead of herself until they were out of sight and earshot of the remaining paradegoers. As soon as they were, though, she spun around and was decidedly thankful her cowl hadn't shifted to reveal the ruddy flush to her face and throat. She stared in his direction, clenching and unclenching her fists, arms nearly straight at her side. The spellrogue was so damned torn between kissing the fool as he approached and punching him right in his stupid mouth. Her brow wrinkled, though, as he reached out with his flask and gestured for the like. There was a sudden softness to her pale eyes. The gesture nearly disarmed her, and she gave a heavy sigh, before reaching into her cloak and trading the pack for the flask. "Thenk ye." Curling her hand around the offering, her voice had been low, fatigued in contrast to the energy of a moment before. Taking a beat, she lifted the drink, but couldn't look Leo in the eyes again just yet. Not until she'd swallowed the fiery liquid did she raise her gaze, a hesitant query on her lips, hiding behind the curtain of her next words. "Yoo're a lang way frae home."

Leoxander didn’t say anything at first. He smacked the pack on his palm until a couple rolled cigarettes stuck out but only clasped one between his lips before shaking them back into order and offering back the closed pack. Sure, he didn’t have much to his name, anymore, but perhaps not surprisingly came the tin covered firestarter with a heavy dent in the side, snipping that familiar sound as he opened and lit, then snapped the hinged lid closed against his bandaged palm. “Special occasion, right?” It was a good excuse, even if she had a double meaning to that obvious statement. Pinching between thumb and index print for a deep take of that familiar plant, shielding the wind from it with ink marked fingers, he exhaled what was a blend of unnaturally heated breath and smoke, also not settling on her eyes for more than a few seconds. “Almost thought your gang would be here to make it more interesting.” Was that a confession? If so, it was as shrouded as her tinted skin. Another taken pull from the quickly burning smoke, as he hadn’t ruined his lungs with that sweet and bitter grass in a good while, and he reached for his flask back to wet his throat. He might even exchange his keepsake temporarily if she went to light her own, though he knew her capable with a mere thought. It offered some sign of trust to a woman with a reputation of theft.

Eleanor's eyes explored Leo's features, seeking out some proof of the honesty of his words. She didn't trust her instincts with him, around him, not anymore, not in a long time. "Reit," she answered stiffly. A heavy silence followed as if she expected him to elaborate, and when he did, she narrowed her flashing eyes, subtly bringing more attention to the fine wrinkles around those cautious celadon twins. "Issat sae?" Slowly, she lifted her left brow, her frown tightening. "Sorry tae disappoint ye." There was no shortage of venom seeping through her words, and yet the spellrogue bristled as she found herself wanting to lie to the man about her guild's attendance, or apparent lack thereof. It soured her mouth, and she pushed her lips into a pensive line. Her chest heaved with a tightness she couldn't seem to shake, and she lifted a trembling hand to bring a new cigarette to her own lips. But again, she faltered as he extended that lighter-kit toward her. Her eyes moved to the keepsake before she braved another look at Leo. Her gratitude was plainly evident as she nodded quietly before she used it to spark up her cigarette and handed it back. All the while, she was careful not to brush her fingers against his as they passed items back and forth. Whether she was successful, though, was yet to be seen.

Leoxander offered a palm flat for the firestarter, almost as though he could read her mind, or to the very least, her caution. Once it dropped into his grip, he pocketed it, but kept the other hand full of the flask so it was another few moments before he took a drag from the exchanged cigarette. “Prolly for the best. Ain’t the same city, anymore.” In his time, Cenril would sooner have the riot guards marching than a festive parade, but a lot had changed. He couldn’t name the politicians but he knew of Hudson’s escapades, and noticed the woman and her son among the committee. “Never answered my question. What’re huntin’, Fox?” They were alone enough he could use the name. He might not be a part of that said gang, anymore, but he had helped create it. It was his turn to find a casual lean on the wall, but it wasn’t just a pose. His body ached, and now that his heart wasn’t racing with uncertainty or adrenaline quite so fast, he was starting to feel it. It depended just how well she could read his weary eyes whether she would pick up on that or not. An ideal opportunity if she truly sought some revenge.

Eleanor at least agreed with Leo there; Cenril was not the same anymore, the dynamic of which was deeply felt by the woman who had considered it home these past few years. Pinching the cigarette between two fingers, she lowered it, exhaling the smoke down and away from the wolf, before answering him. "Whit makes ye think Ah'm huntin' anythin'?" the spellrogue carefully countered. "A lot's changed efter aw …" Her voice trailed off, though, as she watched him use the wall for support, and her gaze stumbled haphazardly over his face, then lower to give him a more thorough once-over, and back up again as her stomach twisted with what she could perceive. The woman swallowed past a hard lump in her throat. She preferred to think her mouth was suddenly parched due to the smoke more than anything else going on. Before she could stop herself, she added, "An' e'en if Ah waur, Leo—" She sucked in through her teeth, his name barely making it out before she continued with, "It was mah understandin' ye didnae want tae hunt wi' me anymair." It was never revenge she truly sought, albeit she'd be lying even more if she tried to say it hadn't crossed her mind more than once.

Leoxander returned with an answer that hit him deeply, whether it hit her the same was one thing he could not read unless she made it obvious with her eyes. He stared ahead as she spoke, finishing off that cigarette before the end was flicked into an opposite wall. “I’m not any good, an’ you know it. Can’t hunt. Can’t bloody function…” The sentence faded there for a short time. “Jackal wants some ink…” He shared the information offhandedly, another drink taken before he offered it back to her, before it was at the bottom. Even if she hadn’t heard she’d know some of their conversation, now. He finally braved a look in her direction, making eye contact. “I can’t *@%kin’ figure out who I am, anymore.”

Eleanor felt the shaking begin anew, his response wrapping around her much like the man o' war had all those years ago. Her expression was struggling to remain neutral or even angry; her teeth ground so hard her jaw started to ache, causing her to work the joint and practically chewing on her reply before it found its way past trembling lips. "Leo—" She swallowed, doubting she really knew him either, then sighed. "Ye—Y'are ne'er gonnae fin' ou' who ye are noo, if ye keep lookin' behin' ye." Her brows furrowed, a saddened shadow finding its way into her gaze, however as her head leaned to the side, the edge of her mouth was cast into faint light, revealing a wry half-smile. "Ye coods be sae much mair than jist 'guid' if ye wanted tae be." El sighed again, rolling her eyes upward a beat before leveling her gaze back toward the man. "Gonnae-no worryin' abit fa ye ur, loove, an' jist figure it whit ye want, th' rest wi' follaw." She didn't know what more she could offer the pirate but damned if she didn't want to give him something, hell, everything, to pull him from this spin.

Leoxander lifted his eyes to that familiar, seafoam gaze. “It meant something, back then. It meant somethin’ with you. Now I’m bloody nothin’, Fox. Little girl said to Huds today…” Nevermind, he wouldn’t recall the statement. Instead, he risked a favor by asking her. “You gotta shower an’ a bed I could rent for the night?” He wasn’t asking access to the loft, but she’d more likely know of someplace warmer than the sea. “Won’t be longer n’ a few bells.” Enough time to clean up, wash his clothes, and catch a ship by early morning. Might also give him time to think over a few things.

Eleanor's eyes shone with unshed tears, a mixture of resentment and yearning stinging them. She almost spat out, "'en wa didnae ye jist come back?" but the air caught in her lungs, the words left unspoken. And yet, she still pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, effectively silencing herself as well while she mulled over his request. Her features softened a degree, her own weariness becoming more evident. "Aye," she exhaled and nodded. "Ay coorse…" Lowering her gaze, she stared at her cigarette a long moment before lifting it to her lips. After she took in a final, deep drag of the potent blend, she let it fall from her fingers, and like its predecessor, the toe of her boot smothered it down into the sand. At length, she edged her gaze sidelong toward the lycan, before jerking her chin back toward the southeastern edge of the city. "C'mon …" Having some kind of purpose pulled the spellrogue back up the street, albeit her steps were unhurried, and she let the silence span between them as she turned toward one of the city's residential districts.

Leoxander | And span the silence did. There was a whole lot left unspoken, for now, but Eleanor was far more patient with him than he ever deserved. Hands tucked into his pockets and his body shrugged against the cold, despite that his lycanthrope blood kept him warm underneath that filthy shirt, his body heat wasn’t the normal furnace it had felt to be in the past. Cenril had changed in aesthetic and protocol but the streets were the same, and his gaze drifted over the familiar buildings to take note of the direction they were headed. More importantly, he weighed in his mind whether or not this was a wise decision. It wasn’t simply desperation that had brought the pirate back at her side, but that might have been part of it, judging his underfed and unwashed appearance. Still, he knew favors to go hand in hand with debt among rogues, and there was definitely unfinished business between the two. Gratitude was not a thing often uttered from his lips, but if she happened to catch the sidelong glance returned her way, Eleanor might notice that the constant anger and suspicion had dropped from azurite blue eyes that still carried a faint, inner ring of gold and shined when caught in the right angle of city street lights.

Eleanor was doing her best to keep her gaze down and in front of them right now. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, though; she could feel those glances spared in her direction as she moved noiselessly through the streets in the waning hours. Their route was not direct, naturally. Like any good rogue, the city was laid out like a careful labyrinth to the female, and she didn't afford Leo any real time to play catch-up. It wasn't for his benefit, however, that she took the twists and turns through the back streets and alleys and even through at least one abattoir. For Fox, it was a matter of survival—a deeply honed instinct that protected both of them from her enemies, whether known or unknown. Her jaw worked as she chewed on a few choice pieces of words she considered sharing with him, but in the end, she kept her lips pursed. At least, not counting the occasional, "Gonnae-no," whispered at him in haste, and she would press him against the nearest wall (and thus far the only contact she considered worth the risk).

Eleanor's Safe House, Cenril

But all in all, it was a fast trip, El hadn't wanted to spend more time than necessary out in the open. And in the end, they found themselves at a wood and iron gate, beyond the privacy fence peeked a modest townhouse. Here, Eleanor hesitated, one of her hands carrying an actual key to the lock, and it was the first time since they'd left the beach that she offered him her gaze again. Inwardly, she was cursing at herself, telling her to bloody move already, but she found herself stuck. It wasn't the loft, but neither was it just any safehouse. It was her safehouse, and something in her screamed at this almost invasion to her privacy, to her world. But this also wasn't just anyone. This was Leo, and suddenly her heart was pounding near-painfully in her chest. Gods, could he hear that? See the sudden fear in her eyes? For a moment, it had seemed so damned natural to help him, and then … The reality of what she had agreed to do was twisting her stomach into knots.

Leoxander should have known their walk would include the hidden paths and alleys, and although he had avoided any physical contact thus far, he cooperated with his own learned instinct to fall silent and blend in shadows when his tall frame was guided against the wall. At the gate, he followed her lead to pause, gaze drifting ahead toward the townhouse, then to the hand that held the key, and finally to eyes that betrayed unspoken words. The voice in his head spoke, and Leo exhaled a long sigh visible in the night air, his conscience telling him that it was forfeit. This was her territory and he shouldn’t have even thought to invade that cherished space. Maybe he owed her a few, sincere apologies but they would never come from such a stubborn wolf, and she herself had advised him to not dwell on the past. He almost took a step back, almost turned to leave and try to forget that the situation had never happened, but another voice of tired desperation chimed in, and it was murmured out loud. “Just… lemme wash up and I’ll go.” He didn’t even have to go inside, but some hot water on sore arms and his soot marred face was a terrible temptation. A chance to clean up and shave without looking over his shoulder with a white knuckled grip on his blade, without every tiny sound making him anxious or angry, fighting the beast that he had managed to cage in order to get back on his feet, literally and philosophically. The bath house across town just wasn’t an option, whether it had been cleaned up or not - he still had a handful of people in that area who wanted his head, and most merchants knew the pirate practically had his own cell in the jailhouse and wouldn’t welcome him in for bread or board. It was either this, or the trip back to Rynvale where he could disappear off the map and back into solitude. Maybe that was just the better choice, after all.

Eleanor croaked out a stiff, "Nae." Once it was out, though, she stood behind it and repeated herself. "Nae, ye swatch loch bludy heel." And then, subtly softer, "It's braw, Leo, jist—c'mon." The lump she swallowed past felt like an anchor, grounding her for the next moment, perhaps the most important. Her gaze lingered on his features another thunderous heartbeat before she shoved the key into the lock. Focusing on the gate, she pushed it inward, a slight whine coming from the hinges, and she might've even ground her teeth again, then, if not for the headache that was tempting her temples.

Moving into the backyard, shadows stretched from a row of hedges that lined the back walkway, and a mixture of sand and gravel crunched up the path. El stood just inside out of Leo's way to allow him entrance, waiting to lock the gate back up after him. Once that was secured, she moved a hand to grasp at her pendant, deactivating it almost by muscle memory once she felt they were out of sight of prying eyes. As her hand curled around the pendant and lowered it to her side, however, she slid a sidelong glance in the pirate's direction, a twinge of guilt fluttering in her chest. Still convinced that she'd had at least some part in Leo's departure from her life, her regret flickered briefly in both her eyes.

That turquoise in her forehead came into view as well, as the back light hanging over the door began to glow with a faint blue light on what passed for a stoop. It barely reached out to El's boots, but it was just enough to see the landing. The gem wanted to reach for the light, though, finding some kinship in that magic lamp, and she struggled another moment to regain her composure. There were cracks in her defenses, to so speak, but it wasn't anything she felt she couldn't handle. For now. "Ah'll uh, Ah'll shaw ye waur th' shower is, an' 'en ... Weel. Aur ye guttin'?" El's own stomach seemed to react to the suggestion of food, although the sounds could be just as easily mistaken for anxiety.

Leoxander hesitated a moment at the gate, his own guilt working somewhat into his eyes though he was well practiced for an emotionless, solemn stare. A glance at the property, back to her, after what could not exactly be considered a reassuring tone, but nevertheless he stepped inside. The wolf in him caused his brow to furrow when she locked the gate, but there wasn’t a fence yet that his dexterity couldn’t overcome, should things go awry. More concerning was the prickle of magic he could see, if not feel, and he had determined by then that she had elevated in her abilities since the last time they were together. Memory of a kiss was forcibly rushed out of his thoughts as he followed to the door, his steps paused several yards away and behind her as the blue glow shined across his eyes, which settled upon the spellrogue’s face and expression. He was surprised to find that he could still read her rather well, almost as well as he could understand that thick accent. “I could eat. I’ve got some pocket money if you’re hurtin’, but somethin’ tells me you’re doin’ a’right.” His gaze returned to the townhouse, which was definitely an upgrade from the loft. But there was sentiment to the small space, even if it was haunted by a past he didn’t allow his mind to revisit. The pirate wasn’t going to tread into her territory first, and he hid his uneasiness well enough as he waited for her to cross the threshold inside.

Eleanor didn't care anymore if her fatigue shone in the bags under her eyes, or the weight that curled around her shoulder blades. "I dornt want yer money, Leo," she told him quietly, although there was a hint of exasperation tainting the words. "Ah cannae attest tae th' security ay lae ay th' city, but ... at th' least, yoo'll be safe haur. Fur as lang as ye need." Her tone was crystal clear: there weren't strings attached to this temporary haven, but neither was she going to put up with any sort of drama that would compromise its integrity. Part of her wanted to add that—well. Even her own thoughts seemed to spin, his reemergence stirring up all kinds of things.

"Ah'll make somethin', an' fin' somethin' tae slake yer thirst better than 'at grog ye lower yerself tae bevvy." She couldn't look him in the eye again, a recurring theme between them tonight. Instead, she fixed her attention on the door, and it opened into a quiet entryway. What little light leaked in from the porch revealed the edge of a sofa, but Eleanor left him in that first room after again locking the door behind him to retreat deeper into the shadows. She was trying to hide her face from him; she didn't want him to see, didn't want him to know what he did to her. But, just like before, those first moments together, she found herself wanting to give him everything. El wrapped herself in silence and shadows, using them as a shield against these confessions. Leo's eyes, however, were likely to catch her shape moving through a living area, and in addition to the modest sofa, a wooden table spread out from it. Beneath the furniture and their steps, the floor was a low-mat carpet layered with textured rugs that a better light would reveal to be a mix of blue and red against a dark grey. She disappeared into a side room and activated the light in there too, but kept the living room in relative darkness for now. The woman knew the room's layout as well as she knew the specks in his eyes she was pointedly avoiding meeting. "There's towels haur," she indicated flatly as she gestured into the large spartan bathroom, before retreating again. This time she moved farther down the hallway, swinging open doors as she went, faint light opening into a den and then a master bedroom. Peeking in the master bedroom, she hmm'd, then returned back to wherever she'd left Leo to fend for himself. "Ah coods eat a whole elephant," she wryly muttered to him in the half-light, figuring at least that would occupy her better than not addressing the one in the room.

Leoxander was well aware Eleanor was taking care of him as she had in the past. As she had nursed him back to sanity once more after a long, horrifying captivity in the arachnid tunnels. He still had scars and marks on his back, stomach and arms from their knives and stingers. It was just too good to resist or decline. Warm water, hot food, good liquor; she knew how to bait the wolf, even if that was not her intention. Slow steps in high laced and heavy tread combat boots brought him into that first space, surprisingly quiet. Perhaps not that surprising to her. After witnessing only some of the emotion in her eyes he spared them both with a direct stare, and instead scoped his surroundings, seeking out any doors and windows for prospective escape, before he took in the detail of furniture or decor. The lack of light wasn’t an issue, a little more amber-gold bleeding into his irises to adjust to a nocturnal stare, which brought out her form edges as though the magic she owned radiated around her in a faint aura. But what he did not predict, as he followed her path to avoid corners and upholstery, was large washroom she offered to his use. He grabbed a towel when the stack was pointed out and held it in claim, and lingered there in the doorway as she moved to open more doors, wafting the scent of her - that sweet, herb lace scent that reminded him of the contrast between metal and silk. Familiar, if far away. “Give me quarter a bell an’ I can help you out.” To the very least, he had the knife skills, and a knack for brewing.

But first and foremost he was already placing the terry cloth on a convenient surface to unbutton the shirt that also carried a scent of soot and dirt and cheap liquor. He didn’t bother to close the door all the way. She’d seen him before. He had no modesty in moments the true wolf was released, but there was no threat of that now as he undressed for the shower that soon hissed through the (hopefully) heated pipes.

Eleanor; To Leo's benefit, the magic that she owned did illuminate her in a fulgent display of blue, if he was sensitive enough to even see that. Very few were given how hard she sought to subdue the aura, but with everything going on that night, she wasn't even really trying anymore. It didn't matter how much she built up the walls, just being near him was like a sledgehammer to every single one. She'd curse herself to death later; right now, it was important to her to at least do this, do this little thing. It was all she could do to keep from spinning out. One thing at a time. Gods damn if she couldn't feel his presence permeating every inch of the apartment already, though, and she found herself lingering in the hallway near the bedroom, cloaking in those protective shadows. Her hands were shaking again as she pulled a new stick to her lips, sparking it up and exhaling a tremulous plume of smoke as she heard the pipes whine and groan at his command. The water took a moment, but it was hotter than the lavender pools, steam already filling up the room. El pressed her back against the wall, facing away from the bathroom, and she fixed her troubled gaze upon the tiled ceiling. She couldn't even wait till later; she cursed beneath her breath and took another drag from her cigarette. A beat later, she moved away and past the bathroom down toward the kitchen, the floorboards creaking with age. Leaving him to do … well, whatever it is he needed to do, she occupied herself with finding clean glasses. Filling them quickly with her strongest whisky, which had been tucked away behind boxes of no-doubt crumbled crackers, she took a generous swig and let the alcohol swirl about as if she was trying to disinfect her mouth of the things left unsaid, her other hand gripping the counter for support.

Leoxander didn’t know of the mental battle she was fighting, but he had to wage his own war. Fortunately for him, once he stepped under the stream of warm water it somewhat helped to wash everything away, dirt and blood spinning brown and red to the drain, a mop of blond hair becoming somewhat blonder even wet and fallen over closed eyes. He scrubbed his callused hands through it with whatever soap he might have scented in the lavatory, also weakening the new blisters on his hands. Including the hell-marked brand he had relieved of bandaging beforehand. As much as he longed to stay warm and wet in the washroom, he only took the time needed to scrub the dirt and odor from his inked and scarred skin, leaving the half beard that lined his jaw intact, for now. Towel was shaken through his hair, first, spiking those overgrown locks in every which direction, albeit clean now. The rest of his body was wiped dry and he’d done enough work that it wouldn’t be too soiled with dirt. Gathering this, his boots and respecting her space enough to don an unbuttoned shirt and pants in need of launder, he wandered toward the smell of alcohol and arrived in the kitchen silently.

Eleanor; As Leo entered behind her, she angled her chin down and toward her right shoulder, feeling as much as smelling his approach. There wasn't much scent to the soap she kept in places like this, neutral and unperfumed as it was for the very specific purpose of masking or at least muting her natural aromas. It was one thing to smell of her herbal blend or whisky, sticky bars, or adrenaline-fueled back-alley brawls. It was another to smell of herself; after all, it didn't do well to have potential survivors of her hunt identifying her by her unique olfactory imprint. So what she was graced with instead was Leo stripped back of the pungency that had hovered over him before. Beneath those layers, though—she always knew when he was near, she assumed he could of her as well. She swallowed, and took another swig of her whisky, before mutely pushing the second glass sidelong across the counter toward him. The amber liquid sloshed a bit in an invitation to the wolf, but the Fox wasn't ready to speak again just yet.

Leoxander approached the opposite side of the counter. A steady gaze on her as he, trusting, took the glass in hand. He held that look directly upon her as he lifted and emptied at least half of what she poured, then took the time to admire the quality with a glance at what was left. It burned his throat and sank into his stomach and he immediately relaxed at the potency of the top shelf brew. “I can go…” He offered that soft reminder, as she had helped greatly, already, but the thought of food made his stomach growl without warning. Despite what he stated, if there was a knife within reach, he’d search it out from a drawer or block and test its weight with a small flip in steady, rough hand or sharpness with the sidescrape of thumb. He was hungry but the least he could do was help feed Eleanor, aware of her own body’s grumbles.

When Eleanor lifted her gaze to the pirate to process his words, her expression shifted despite herself. She didn't want him to go, that much she knew for sure. But to voice such a thing took more courage than she possessed yet. Electing not to respond, she mulled over the internal confession, eyes boring through his back as he found the knife block. While much the kitchen was fairly sparse, the knives themselves were one of the few splurges she'd had in regards to amenities. Finally, pulling herself from her thoughts, she inhaled a lungful of smoke and finished it off with a swallow of whisky before letting the plume fill the space between them. "There's meat in th' box," she spoke, at last, to usher away the bated silence. Her gaze dropped to the knife in his hand, then back up to scry what she could from his features. "Leo." She let the name fall between them, and she swallowed, suddenly uncertain of what she meant to say. Or at least, how to say it. "Ah—" Indecision wrinkled her brow, and the ache to her sternum returned. "Leo," El repeated, his name heavy on her lips.

Leoxander | With a drink in one hand and a sharp chef’s knife in the other, he was all the same disarmed, pausing at the sound of his name on her lips. Blue eyes met a translucent gaze both haunting and intriguing from behind the veil of spiked strands starting to dry into a brighter blond, until he distracted himself by finishing off that whiskey, which might reveal a glimpse of the branded symbol of hellfire on his left palm. Knuckles nudged the vessel back her way to silently request a refill, half hoping that she stopped herself from the unspoken conversation they were overdue to have, and he stabbed the point of the knife down into the cutting block just hard enough to precariously balance it in a vertical hold. It was more a show of trust than it was disrespect to turn his back to her momentarily as he sought out a healthy cut of grass grazer’s shoulder or some other thick steak that would be enough to share between them, and he dropped that wrapped slab down next to the blade and braced a slouched weight on his palms at either side, hesitating on the return of his stare toward her features. They had both aged in and around the eyes prematurely for similar count of years, and his tight-lipped expression showed just how reluctant he was to get into words that weren’t safe to be handling a blade through, because of the way he knew he knew there was a very probable chance he would slip up or tremble. But he also knew they could not continue in each others’ company without dragging a few skeletons out of the closet. “Don’t ask me to apologize.” He started, sternly, to hide the fact it was a struggle to admit what he did. “I got scared. I ran. Wouldn’t make much sense if we weren’t cut of the same cloth, El.” It was the first taste of that shortened nickname in a long while, and bittersweet.

Eleanor; The indecision in her stare shifted to frustration, and she scowled. "Ah dornt want yer buckin' apologies, Leo," she cursed at him. Her chest heaved a beat, and she looked ready to punch him again. "Ah forgave your stupid, sorry—" Eleanor's cheeks were hot, and she ground her teeth, exhaling a shaking breath through her nose. "Lang ago. Coz ay coorse Ah did, ye divit. Dae ye hink Ah woods hae brooght ye haur otherwise?" A heavy sigh wooshed out of her, and she, at last, tore her hurt stare away to pour the drink, refilling both their glasses, and she downed all of hers before letting the empty tumbler chink against the counter. "Bludy hell, Leo …" El edged her gaze back up to him. "Ye jist dornt kin, dae ye loove?"

Leoxander rubbed his work worn and callused hand over his face, fingers scrubbing at the bridge of a faintly freckled nose before it ended in a rough scratch into week old whiskers, starting to hint some greys among the sandy brown color. Fortunately he was fresh from the shower, as he immediately started to busy himself, unwrapping the cut to trim and slice two steaks out of the mass, helping himself to a morsel or two that he chewed through his words. “I don’t like needin’...-” He stopped himself for a moment to find a better way of explaining himself, “-...dependin’ on people. But today was the first time I felt... human... in a long bloody time. S’easy to let the wolf keep runnin’. Then started gettin’ harder, goin’ back.” Leo hoped she could understand at least some of his vague explanation, even if she hadn’t asked him to. Whether she wanted it or not, it was the first time he’d gotten any of it out of his mind and off his chest. He fell quiet again and lowered the knife to make his way around the kitchen, checking cabinets for the cast iron to cook with, since she didn’t have the same affinity for raw meat that he did. If there was any pepper to be found, his skills would prove to be useful, a wolf nose and thief tactics helping to sniff out and locate the things he needed to prepare a meal. Apparently he was spoiled by her enough in the past that he fell into a comfortable rhythm, hunting out matches to light the burner, then searching the cold-box for a few eggs to throw into the mix on the same cooking pan. “Had to lock the sonuvabich away, and I know hew ain’t happy.” As he mumbled through bites and talked about the beast in the third person, like another split identity, the sounds and scents of sizzling meat filled the kitchen. He didn’t leave his cut on the iron for long, forking the seared but very rare entree to the cutting board to bleed red juice as he finished the rest. If she had plates he’d leave that task to her to complete, along with whatever else she may want to add in.

Eleanor fell quiet, withdrawing a degree to press her hip back against the counter. Tucking one arm under the other, she puffed at the cigarette still hoarding its herb a moment longer. But her gaze followed Leo as he moved about to prepare the food. She didn't offer to help, or point anything out; part of her did so out of spite, but the other part knew he didn't need her, or her guidance, to find anything. Nevertheless, she stewed, considering his 'explanation,' his 'excuses,' until the cig was naught but ash, and she stuffed it unceremoniously into a glass sculpted ashtray atop the icebox. Eventually, her thoughts straightened out just enough to pull plates from another cupboard—the only two plates she owned. Two tumblers, two plates … How long had she had this safe house? El didn't offer up any remarks about the food, kitchen … or even Dal'ken, although it would be lying to say she wasn't stumbling over each topic of conversation. She stood there in the dark, watching and smelling as he brought life to their meal, and at last, she felt like she could speak without the tremble of her voice being quite so obvious. "Leo—" Gods, if his name on her lips didn't catch her up each and every damn time. "Ye ken…" she tried again. "Ye ken mair abit me than anyone else. We … did hae somethin' Ah dornt e'en hae words fur." Setting the plates on the counter in another moment of silence, she added carefully, "But, ye an' Ah hae bin through thes sang an' jink…" Her turn of phrase brought the memories of the music box back to the forefront of her mind, and she had to swallow, hard, to muster up the courage he seemed to strip from her. Although her senses were being enticed by the cooking food, she found her appetite gone, her stomach twisting into uncertain knots. "Ye keep tellin' me hoo it mattered 'en, hoo we mattered 'en …" Trusting him had never come easy, but gods strike her down if they hadn't been to hell and back together. She worried that too much time had passed, that the feelings weren't there anymore, and she began to have more doubts about bringing him here, about … dredging up the old wounds. It was killing her just being this close to him, this terrified to reach out and reassure herself he was actually here. But what else was she supposed to do? Just leave him in the street? She'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least … try. "... but whit abit noo?" Standing there in the dark kitchen, lit only by the residual heat needed to cook the food and whatever moonlight streaked in through the heavy curtains on each window, Eleanor felt more naked than ever, and even as the words left her, she regretted them—regretting calling attention to … it, whatever it was, whatever it still was. It was too late though, there was no taking that back, and she felt like every part of her might split down the middle.

Leoxander | The lack of stock in the kitchen did not go unnoticed, but he wouldn’t mention it. It only revealed what he suspected the moment they arrived at the gates; this had to be a sanctuary of sorts for her, one the loft could never be again, thanks to him. Leo also recognized just how difficult it must be to have him there in reach to possibly break her all over again. Although his own gut was twisted and he felt his throat tighten up, there wasn’t a thing short of being unconscious that could stop him from that meal, and he let the steak puddle in warm, greasy blood only long enough to rinse off the board well enough to be washed later. Whether utensils had been retrieved or not, he had no need for them, and she would be witness to the same mannerless beast from her past as he hunched protectively over his plate and picked it up with his fingers of both hands, somewhat representing that aforementioned wolf in the way he tugged his head slightly to the side to tear off a large bite that he stuffed against a cheek to chew on. He was listening attentively, of course, but he couldn’t help but be grateful that he had a reason to keep his head down and stay silent for a few seconds more after she got to that dreaded question. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have every right to an answer, but he’d never been very good at sparing a sometimes harsh truth, despite his criminal reputation and status. The only difference here was not knowing what that exact truth was. A sigh left him through his nose and he lowered the meat back to the plate, tearing off a piece with his wet fingers to expose the very red center, and he idly dabbed that piece into the yokes of his eggs, still chewing up the rest of the too large bite he’d initially taken. His tired eyes finally raised toward her expression, perhaps reading some of her own emotion no matter how practiced she was at wearing an impassive mask. “What’em I s’possed to say, El? I’m a fuggin’ lunatic. I can’t remember half the s#*t I been through an’ most the rest I don’t wanna. Can’t walk a bloody street without expectin’ a knife in my back. You an’ I…” His chest constricted, there. “We had good days, good… nights. Then we had times I’m sure you wanted to slit my g’damned throat an’ I wouldn’t have blamed you. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t care. I... miss what we had...” There, he said it, and it seemed to take a lot of breath to utter that hoarse statement. “...I miss… you. But how damned selfish am I draggin’ you through the mud with me while I try to figure out how to stay sane?” Or human, for that matter. He struggled to swallow that bite, hesitating on the next. His appetite had diminished as well, but he knew his body needed that sustenance while he had the opportunity, survivor instincts forcing him to lift that next bite to his mouth before he half wiped his hands down his unbuttoned shirt and planted them on the counter to hold himself on his feet. He stared down at his plate for a moment as if there was some equivalence there in the mess he’d made of his meal.

Eleanor still hadn't touched the food, her stomach twisting in on itself in helpless somersaults. She couldn't breathe. Everything in her was frozen in time, the time he spent chewing that food both before and after his words making her mind reel. There wasn't anything that could force the air back into her lungs, and she sagged a bit back against the counter; she needed that damn counter just as much as he did. Drawing in a steadying breath, she hoped that it only looked like she was simply shifting her weight. But in the dark, her eyes had lowered once more, her chin dropped enough that her own unkempt bangs curtained that turbulent stare. Fumbling for an answer, she began digging around in her pockets for those smokes again. She nearly dropped the damn case, and it was then that she huffed out a scoff, and she twisted to face him, one hand slamming the stupid thing against the counter. "Weel braw. If yoo're selfish an' insane, Leo, th' buck diz 'at make me fur wantin' ye in spite ay 'at?"

Leoxander flinched hard at the impact of her case and whatever sound it made, his anxiety still flying high even though he was more or less safe in the townhouse. Reacting like that was not something he was known for doing, trusting his reflexes enough to stay calm in almost any situation, in the past. That was until the weeks of nightmare and phobia that scarred his skin as well as it scarred his mind. The tension was evident in his body, locked in his jaw, and he half glared sidelong at her, waiting for his heart to slow back down. But it didn’t. “I’d say a fool, but we know you ain’t that…” Came the low, grumbled response to her question, and he looked away, searching for some aid or answer which came in the form of that tumbler of whiskey. His turn to take it down in a hard swallow, emptying the glass in a second. And no, he hadn’t missed the underlined words she had said. She’d more or less stated that she still wanted him. The knots in his stomach twisted even tighter and he felt a little short of breath. There might have even been a few specks of sweat building, but he’d tell himself that was the heat from the cooking fire, or whiskey, or the return of a radiating body heat that could only be explained through lycanthropy. Nevertheless, it was made more obvious by the back of his hand roughly swiping over his brow and eye, his sleeve of no help since it was still rolled back far enough to reveal the bitten scorpion in faded black. Breathe, Leo. His subconscious repeated that a few times in the silence that stretched between them almost too long, firelight flickering across the reflective surface of eyes that gazed forward as a string of memories - aggressive, angry, sensual, painful memories - tumbled around in his head. “...I should go.” Those words again fell from his lips quietly, because it was still a flawed instinct to flee. Yet he didn’t immediately turn or move from his stationed spot at the counter, though he no longer cared about the food he desperately needed. Need was just one of those things he was reluctant to become weak to, in so many ways.

Eleanor narrowed her stare, she wasn't backing down anymore and was done hiding behind pretense. "Reit. Ay coorse." The scoff fell from her lips with all the poison she intended, but it still felt bitter, leaving an awful taste in her mouth. She couldn't look at him, though, not right now. Lowering her gaze, she fixed it on that cigarette case, but she had some modicum of control over her fingers this time even as the layers of frustration still gripped them in a tremor. "Goddamnit, Leo," she hissed under her breath. Stuffing one end of a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, she added, "One ay these days yoo're gonnae realize yoo're runnin' in th' wrang direction." She knew though—knew that his feet weren't moving, that he wasn't withdrawing, and she lifted her gaze slowly, her cupped hands lowering before the spark could be summoned. Hesitance was creeping back into her pained expression, and she started to feel a familiar buzz between her temples as she tried to catch a glimpse of what he was thinking. But it was no use; she could no sooner read his thoughts than she could understand her own. Words weren't working. Food and drink hadn't either. There was nothing left but her actions, and experience spoke volumes about how that usually went. El found herself just as caught in indecision as Leo until she reached out to him. It wasn't just her empty hand that reached for one of his, but it felt like a part of her was trying to get through to him as well, at least emotionally. No magical hijinks, just an overwhelming need to connect in some way. Not after telling her he missed her, not after everything; she wasn't ready to just watch him walk out of here.

Leoxander | It was that contact that lured his eyes back toward hers, at last. He nearly balled his fist tightly against the cooler touch of her fingers, but instead he separated his middle knuckles just enough that she had the option of finding a digit between each gap, to hold onto his hand in a way he could close his fingers laced with hers, but he couldn’t bring himself to give over his palm. “Listen… I’ll come back, a’right? I’ll… make this up to you.” He gestured toward the unfinished meals and the slight mess he left in her kitchen, but he meant so much more than that in those words. It just wasn’t safe to stay. How would he ever manage to sleep, or quiet his racing thoughts, if he remained so near? With the temptation of crawling up against her, capturing her in his arms, trapping her against his body, swimming in her scent while she baked in his heat. He was washed and half fed, all thanks to her, but he still felt lacking in so many ways that she didn’t deserve. A trip to the island was overdue, and he had business there that he would never leave to accomplish if he gave in and glued back to her side. A change of clothes, a chance to get rid of the shadows that haunted his eyes and weighed his shoulders - she’d given him some motivation to try and pull himself together by fighting her own better judgment to let him through those gates. “You just tell me when, where, or tell me to go to hell. I gotta tie up a few loose ends.” It would be for the best. It might give her the chance to think and reason with herself to be sure that this… he… was what she wanted. If she kept that contact on his hand, hers would lift on top of it and his elbow touched the counter, the other arm rested to support his slouch. He was no romantic that would kiss her knuckles, but he hid a solemn frown behind their hands and she’d feel the prick of rough whiskers against her eyes as he waited for her response. His own gaze had definitely dissolved from suspicion and caution to a searching stare with a flicker of hope.

Eleanor didn't know how she managed to take a half-step toward him, but suddenly she was inhaling everything about their evening in the space between; sand and smoke and fire and food. Whisky-stained breath and appetite only just whet. Leo. Whatever it was, she felt awash with emotion when his knuckles let her in, even if only just, and a second step forced her to lift her chin that she might catch whatever clouded his features. Their hands masked his face a moment, but at that moment, the air escaped her lungs. It took her a beat, another, and then a third before she was able to reply, and when she did, her throat ached from everything she was still holding in. "When? Ah hink ye ken th' answer tae 'at... Whaur? Anywhaur ye buckin' want, Leo." Even as she told him, however, she knew it wouldn't be enough; he was still going to leave, and all she had were his words. Her other hand, still holding the cigarette, was pressed against the counter, so close to curling around his elbow, but she dared not lest he really saw how perched she was on the precipice.

Leoxander studied her for a long while. He didn’t smile, but there was a short lived moment when some of the expression in his eyes strengthened and sharpened, a glimpse of the self assured and lawless pirate he had once been, in rarely found moments of joy or success. That squinted gaze traveled down to her hand, and as he straightened upright, he boldly plucked the unlit cigarette from between her fingers and placed it between his lips - for the road. “I’ll see ya soon.” He mumbled around it, loosening his grip and drawing his hand from under hers. His shirt was buttoned just enough to close it at his abdomen before he turned to leave the way they had entered, waiting if necessary for any magic preventing his exit to lift, if she in fact would.

Eleanor; There was a bittersweetness to his words; she was sure she'd heard them before. Before, she'd never really asked much of him—only that they were at the very least honest with each other. She had never demanded he prove anything, either with words or actions. But as she watched and felt him withdraw, it was like he was leaving her with a dagger in her chest. Some inhuman noise was strangled in her throat, and she followed after him to the door. "Wait—" Despite the uncertainty bubbling up in her, the word came out sharp and forceful, and she moved through the apartment with the speed that spoke of her utter familiarity with it, dodging around furniture until she was able to reach out for him again. This time, however, she reached for his wrist, intent on pulling him back until he could see her in the half-light. "Leo, wait—" The words flew out of her of their own accord, but she didn't give herself a chance to falter. Whether she'd managed to wrap her hand around his wrist or not, she was already moving closer where she could. Her mind was a blur, spinning as fast as her heart hammered. Her body seemed to know what to do, though, wanting to pull him closer, pull him in so that she could say all the things she didn't know how to without uttering a word.

Leoxander was in the process of taking that ‘borrowed’ smoke from lips to tuck it safely away behind his ear for later when he heard her call, and hastened steps. Wrist caught, he almost instinctively tugged free before reminding himself it was Eleanor, a woman who had every right to turn him for a knife in the gut. Fortunately for him, that didn’t seem to be her intention. Although he complied to lessen his height and near her, his branded hand lifted, the burning of his skin not harmful but noticeable from the scarred hellfire symbol torn through callused lifelines. Fingers on her face, his thumb held the other side of her jaw, not forcefully but not quite gentle, either. He was nose to nose and reading her eyes, worried that he knew exactly what she, what he wanted to do. Of course, he could be completely wrong, and setting himself in range for a hard slap across the face and a vile cursing. Either way, he held their lips apart, tilting his head for a heated whisper across her cheekbone. “Not yet…” He followed it with that whiskered kiss, but rather than find the target of her mouth, he touched it to the corner of her lips, where that crease came into view when the Fox gave that familiar smirk of hers. His roughened thumbprint brushed over it as though to pet the irritation from his unshaven half-beard away, and hopefully it disarmed her enough that he could continue his exit. Leo knew that once he gave in to kiss her, it would be likely impossible to stop.

Eleanor wasn't expecting the turn Leo made, the way he held her stubborn jaw, and she would be lying if she said those two words didn't send a dangerous shiver up her spine. Defiantly, she tried to jerk her chin away, but his maneuver had, in fact, caught her off-guard, and there wasn't much fight left in the gesture. What was left was the flip-flop of her stomach, and it felt like every bit of her was screaming. But nothing came out of her frustrated scowl except a sound of exasperation at the back of her throat. Even if she wanted to, she didn't possess the wherewithal to hold him back any longer. Just as her own walls had been shattered by Leo's proximity, that wayward kiss to the corner of her mouth drew out any remaining energy she still had, leaving the door free to pass without further objection.