Who: Lust (redhots ) and a shamelessly borrowed Greed (notenough ) and Martel (firetongue ) When: At the same time this is taking place Where: Greed's NYC abode What: Tuning in and cutting the cord
The next broadcast coming from Divorce had been one eagerly anticipated by at least one of the Sins, so when the notice came for the next installment, Lust was cheerfully perched atop Greed's lap as the web cam went live.
It was strange, the quickly shifting sense of horror, longing and disgust at seeing her 'master' strung up and battered down so. Never before had she seen him in such a state. It was somewhat humbling, in the sense that if a King of Hell could be trussed up and picked apart, what did that say for the bottom feeders? But that thought was quickly tossed aside out of the lingering hate she felt for the man who took it upon himself to twist her life into unnecessary knots.
There was no sign of Desmond's presence this time, for that she breathed a small sigh of relief. Old wounds were best left to the wayside, especially since she had a viewing companion this time around. Alone, that might have been a different story all together.
Together they watched Mona move about the felled Hell King, a strange sense of pride warming Lust with watching the Goddess work as the only one she'd ever taken directly under wing, it only reflected back well on her. All but leaning forward on her elbows to get closer to the flat screen of the computer monitor, that contentment bled into something else. It started as the vaguest sense of an itch, before it eased itself into an odd sort of discomfort.
Shifting uneasily against Greed, Lust only half paid attention to the heat-like ripple in the air as her palms flattened against the desktop as she struggled to stabilize herself. A sharp pull of tension all but bowed her back, a pained hiss breezing through her lips and causing the man beneath to move. She could feel him moving, hear him speaking, but the words were just ambient noise, meaning lost to the haze of whatever it was overtaking her. There was the familiar burn of Hell to her eyes, a struggling sputter of the red reflecting from her own Hellfire, and the dirty, inky black that still resided in her master's residual influences and that hold warred with the attack.
And then through the rush of blood deafening all else, slips of memories began to leak through. The hot slide of skin and half-lost whispers of Latin in her ear, the heavy weight of Asmodeus' threats bearing down. The odd sensation of sharing a shell with another living thing, her own screeching intermixed with Desmond's mad prattle and a harried incubus. The brother she turned her back on and those she drove away as best she could. Whirl after twist of forgotten moments came rushing back to mix, clash and collide with the tales she had been told. Above all resounded a single note, much like a string pulled taut and plucked. Lacquered fingernails dug into her brother's desk as it continued to increase exponentially, more and more and more until with the single devastating snap, there was finally silence and a blissful state of nothingness as the Sin pitched forward and into Greed's arms before she could fall to the floor or impact face first with his desk.
Waking up some time later, there was a few long, hard moments of struggle to relegate the then with the now, to finish process and settling back into herself, but eventually self-aware eyes slowly blinked open and up at an obviously stressed Greed and a fretting Martel crouched nearby. Her head was killing her, and she felt overly raw from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, but it was well worth the toll of being relieved of both the Hell King's hold and the bitter Grecian whore's interferences. A cocky smirk curled pale lips as she reached up to pat Greed's cheek fondly.