Ruby and Gold

"I can still contact Matrea and Marth," Inuko explained softly, resting her arms on her knees. Her fingers grew, then, nails become invincible claws. They were nearly four inches in length, not the entirety of what she could grow, and glittered black in the light from the moon. She knew what she could do, how she could kill them, and she had contemplated it for quite some time. Her knowledge of the occult was extensive and sometimes painful, fear-inducing, but she was proud of what she had learned in all of the years she had been alive. "I can summon them, here. If you kill the host bodies... Their souls do not immediately return to Hell. They're first House, meaning first removed from Angels. They have to spend some time in the Shadowlands before they get to go back."

Her smile grew as she said that, fingers flexing like a cat staring at its prey. In the Shadowlands, she rules. They had no powers, no abilities, and she could take them down with minimal effort. There, they were no better than humans, and even less than that. The ghosts of humans. They could do nothing to escape her wrath. The brothers would get exactly what they deserved... and Don would finally be free of their oppressive presence. The Devil House could be reborn and once more flourish, and she would be free to do whatever it was she wanted to do.

"In the Shadowlands," Inuko snarled, voice low and words spoken slowly, carefully. "They're mine. Whatever happens there is... permanent. If they die there, their souls are shredded. They will never be able to return to Hell. Or anywhere else."

Inuko watched the slow change in Kindred that sat beside her, curiosity stirring within her dead little heart. In her many years, she had watched the Beast change some of her companions. Even her husband was unable to escape its cruel curse. However, a vampire whose appearance changed solely based on the level of violence within its mind? Now that was something she wasn't entirely certain she had ever heard of, and she was sure she hadn't ever witnessed it firsthand. Her head tilted to one side in a cherry blossom waterfall, her golden eyes flashing despite their ghostly tinge. She had so many questions she wanted to ask this man, but he seemed particularly fond of his secrets.

"Give me two weeks to train you in how to bring them down," she told him at long last, her voice a low growl that matched his own. Despite herself, the Gangrel Wraith was still a reactionary creature, a monster in her own right that would mimic and respond to the situation perfectly. "After that, there is one week until the new moon. That will be when the Veil is at its weakest, and I'll be able to help you drag their souls down. In fact, you might even be able to watch me destroy the rest of the Arian Clan with your own blind little eyes."

The jab was not meant as an insult, but it slipped free from her lips. She found herself comfortable around Etonis Vadia. She understood him in a way that she rarely ever understood another creature. They were birds of a feather, cut from the same cloth. They were both monsters, hounds of hell and war. Their little game of chase had won him her respect, and his willingness to rid the world of such vile beasts? Despite only knowing the Assamite for a single night, she found she considered him... a friend. And that, she recognized, was incredibly dangerous indeed.

"In fact, if you'd like, I can even give you a Gangrel gift... A little something that will help you, especially if you find yourself..." Her gaze fell, then, to his swords. The magic infused in his weapons glowed like radioactivity to the Wraith, but she also knew just how easy it would be to disarm him for somebody like herself. "Unarmed."

Who was this monster that had, only moments ago, chased after her with the power of a vampire and the soul of man? Whatever humanity she had felt had fled, almost like a scared child. Even his scent had changed, drained of the love for life that had almost inspired her to miss being alive. Well, undead. Either way.

Her head tilted to one side and her lips pursed, thoughtfully, eyes flashing. "I'll trade you the secrets of my Clan for secrets in return," she challenged, leaning towards him. The gold in her eyes shined in thought and consideration. Black eyes... Those were familiar. All too familiar, in fact.

The memory of rain splashing against her face, clinging to her whiskers. The feel of her husband beneath her as he carried her weight. Cold, the inability to ever feel warm again. Her lips twisted into a sneer, but no black inked into the color she clung to so desperately.

The tiny Wraith sat still and silent as Eto - if she could call him that - rambled on. He seemed to enjoy his freedom, poised beside her ready to attack should she threaten him in even the most idle of fashions. It was interesting... He had come here, to her lands, knowing very well that she could destroy him and he'd never be able to touch her. Yet, suddenly, with the darkening of his skin, eyes, and hair, he had somehow forgotten the power a ghost had on their hallowed grounds.

"Are you still Etonis Vadia? Or are you... someone else? What, exactly, are you?" Her words were not well thought out, not contemplated. She was a brash individual, often sticking with her gut instinct instead of taking the time to think it all out. She wanted to know what happened to the excitable little boy that had played chase with her, following her through the trees and Gangrel territories. Was he possessed?

Nuko leaned towards him, breathing in through her nose as she tried to understand his scent.t It was different, but why? What had changed? Who was he, now? Who had he been before? And why did his eyes change like hers, so different from almost everybody else? She had only met one other with the same curse she had... and he was dead, now. Was Eto like her? Or something else entirely?

The body? The explanation didn't do much to help her understand. In fact, Nuko found that she might be even more confused than before she had asked the questions. He is Etonis Vadia, and yet there is nothing of him within him? What, then, did she call him? Her head tilted from one side to the other, eyes blinking slowly as she silently contemplated that question. Her lips formed a thin line as she watched him stand and walk towards the beautiful stone that was her and her husband's Memorial, a gift to the dead Kindred from one Amy O'Connor. The only way any of this made sense...

"Paics, then," she murmured aloud, standing from her own crouch. Her body was smaller than Eto's in every way, shorter and thinner. She padded a few steps after him, but stopped, allowing the Monster his space. He had asked, after all, what it was that she could offer him. That was something she understood, something she could explain. Talking about the Gift of the Gangrel, Protean, meant that she was no longer at a deficit.

She raised a hand from her side, and where pianist fingers once were, gnarled claws were visible. Her long fingers stretched out into unruly, four inch long monstrosities that caught and glimmered in the moonlight. Her predatory grin grew as it crossed her face, exposing the sharp, canine like fangs she often kept hidden behind closed lips. The tell-tale markers of the Kindred - two elongated fangs, sharp enough for clean punctures - never receded. Unlike most of her vampiric brethern, she had no way of pulling them back into her gums. They pressed against her lower lip as she wiggled her clawed fingers.

"Feral claws. Unbreakable weapons, attached directly to your body. They can pierce anything... armor, flesh, magic... Not even other Kindred can heal from the wounds they cause." She had tested that theory time and time again. Spreading her fingers, she turned her golden eyes away from Paics, down to her claws, and her smile grew far more savage, the black ring beginning to encircle the gold. "The greatest of the Gangrel gifts."

Irony. That made her laugh. She tossed her head back in the consuming cackling, her eyes still mostly the golden her husband loved so dearly. Very few people had ever called her out on that. At least, the ones who had were either dead or married to her. She glanced around, hoping to catch the ghostly visage of her Irish husband, but he had slipped away some time ago. There was no telling where he had gone, where he had found himself. Eto himself seemed to make him uncomfortable... Paics would probably turn her usually pacifistic husband violent. He did not like it when she spent time with monsters like her.

Bad influence, he said, and maybe he was right. The blackness of Paics' gaze made her want to give in to the whispers of war that pressed at the back of her mind, begging her to let out the violence she kept locked away. She steadied herself with a deep breath, but not even that helped the dangerous black rings to recede. She flexed both clawed hands for a moment before, finally, the claws disappeared, leaving behind only her very capable fingers. She tightened them into fists as she struggled, but after a moment, she was able to breathe deep once more.

"When did the separation come into play?" she asked. "You say you are and yet are not Etonis Vadia. When did you two separate? His Embrace?"

Thorn. The demoness that came with Etonis. His friend, as it was explained to her. She had yet to meet the woman and did not think that she would, necessarily. She knew of her power only through the minds of those that had come to visit her, and as they explained, she was comparable to Finn himself. That made her interesting, to say the least. She wanted to know more about the woman, but that was not what she had asked.

It would be unfair of her to expect answers without offering them in return. She was giving him the gift of the claws, but if she wanted to keep him open to her line of questioning, she knew she would have to return the favor as best she could. Her tongue darted out, as if to wet lips that would never go dry again. Why was she asking? That question was far more personal than he knew, but perhaps he assumed. Could he see the blackness in her own gaze? The way her eyes flashed a faded gold as the whispers of war begged for freedom?

"The affliction of duality is familiar to me," she said at long last, a very practiced answer. Finn had taught it to her whenever her parents - Sudaru and Adelphenia LaCaille - had pressured her for information. Her frenzy was so unlike the ones they knew of, the ones they were familiar with, but their questions only served to make her uncomfortable. Finn, Amy, Killy, Abba, Don... Only they were intimately familiar with her strange condition.

Before he could ask any further questions, her particular line of thought brought forth another question; one that was more for the sake of her own comfort. "Abbadon. Informally known as Don of the Devil House. Explain the depth of Etonis and Abbadon's relationship." If the fiery demon trusted him as much as she had been led to believe, then perhaps he was worth trusting with such... delicate information.