Goody-goody? [ —he grouses, expression flitting into the realm of s o u r as Sokie gives life to a protective ward (necessary, not only to prevent the spread of ash, but to provide enclosure for the incinerating magic which she bids of him), her execution of the spell as flawless as her attack upon the Shades had been. And once the barrier hangs suspended over the corpses, Asura needs only to draw upon the wrath fueling the beat of his heart, his every breath, to summon a maelstrom of flame within the confines that Sokie has set. The force of his magic is wild, unrestrained, and were the necromancer not the one who had fashioned the ward, it is all too likely that Asura's fire would have fractured it, rending it to pieces.

But as it is: Sokie's his match, and the fallen Shades waste away, turning to dust which will need to be buried beneath the Wilde's blighted earth, sealed beneath the land like crude oil and coal where they could do no further harm. ]

You're going to ruin my reputation, if you keep saying things like that. [ With a slow exhale (a slope of his shoulders), Asura releases his spell—both of them. The spear of flame? Gone from his hands. The smoldering vortex of fire so hot it burned blue? Dispelled from beneath the veil of Sokie's barrier. ] Besides, you know full well that I'm easy to satisfy.

[ Asura's grin? It deepens, creasing the fullness of his mouth with fondness for the woman standing abreast of him. ]

At the end of the day, all I need is a bottle of whiskey and someone strong at my side.

[ He totally is going to get her for that, but not for the reason that Sokie might imagine. Yeah, Asura resents the term 'good-goody' (he's never perceived himself in that light, even if enacting Summer's justice places him, ironically, on the right side of the law), but what makes him go in for that grab is Sokie herself. He'll humor her, and not only just this once—if it'll inspire one of her grins (perfectly devious things, those are), he'll sign himself right the fuck up to answer the call, especially when it's fun. And this, right here right this second, is a test of Sokie's agility against the length of Asura's reach, and the King? Well, he's not about to turn down that contest. Going in, there's a glint of his golden talons before...! He lunges, attempting to take hold of the necromancer by her waist, and if he's successful, he'll draw her person in close to him (bah on trying to leap away!).

But either way, he'll still shake his head with a laugh: ] I'd dare you to try and convince anyone I've bested in a fight of that.

[ H m p h. Who's a good guy, anyway!! During those moments (when he's squaring off with an opponent who stands a chance of matching him), Asura can be, well, a beast. Especially if he's let loose in a way similar to his toying with evocation and flame. Looking to the scorched earth, he considers the ashes that remain (and finds himself pleased with how quickly he'd managed to incinerate the fallen Cwyld-creatures), and looks to Sokie, asking— ]

You want to crack open the ground to get the ashes buried, or is that on me?

[ It'd been close, hadn't it? Sokie, she'd nearly evaded his grasp, and Asura had been uncertain (in a way he never is when battling creatures blighted by the Cwyld) of his own success until the moment when he'd been able to establish a firmer hold, smooshing the necromancer right up against his chest. And for it, he gets... a poke in the pec??

Rude.

Huffing, Asura glances down at Sokie, the curls of his ravendark hair which have loosened from his ponytail falling about them, tickling the skin. Were Sokie to only try to break free of the circle of his arms, she'd find the escape met with no resistance, though... as it is, she remains, and Asura has no reason to relinquish the embrace. He's still fatigued, and the expenditure of so much energy at once has done nothing but put the last of his magic reserves to the test, but... he still has enough in him to fissure the ground beneath the ward, especially if he uses his own body as foci.

One hand leaving Sokie's person, he extends his arm, taloned fingers curling into a fist...! And with a timed, flex and release of his fingers (claws glinting in the light which filters in between the slats among the trees), the earth splits, the ashes of all three Cwyld-creatures slipping into its maw. Closing the fissure sees Asura's outstretched fingers brought back to center, his talons biting into the palm of his hand (admittedly, this particular application of magic is not his area of expertise, and a bit of spilled blood will serve to power it further) as the seams of earth fit back together, all traces of scorched ground-soil gone along with the ash.

Like no battle had taken place at all. Were it not for Sokie's ward, no one would be the wiser. ]

I could concede to you. [ —Asura speaks after a moment, his focus upon Sokie once again. The arm still about her hips squishes her closer still. ] Claim that I'm one of the good ones, but...

[ Here, he gives pause, allowing the weight of a sigh to slope his shoulders now that all is said and done. ] Then, by association, wouldn't you be straight-laced and virtuous, too?

[ Who's teasing who now, huh? ]

In my... professional experience, the most virtuous among us have something within them that is never chaste. [ Otherwise, what drive would they have to be all moral and upstanding and lawful good to begin with? ] And the people who claim to be a bad influence are oftentimes the opposite.

[ Did you hear that, Sokie? You better have, because Asura totally accompanied the sentiment with an eyebrow waggle, before...! He speaks from an oddly solemn place, likely because he's held this particular notion himself: ]

They're the sort that just want to protect others from themselves.

[ And from their damage. And Asura? He's got plenty of that. When you're as old as a Changeling (or as some necromancer who's cooked herself up a bottle of almost-immortality), it's impossible not to. But then, without all that baggage, things would be awfully boring, now wouldn't they? ]

...let's go. Make camp. Maybe engage in some of that risky business you mentioned before. [ Sokie's pulled away, but his hand follows, skimming down the small of back with the promise of sinking lower still. But first: ] Unless you need more juice to complete the ward?

[ And if that's the case, he'll offer himself to be her foci, if only because he's ready to leave the good fight behind for the time being—there will always be more Cwyld-beasts laying in wait within the Wilde's depths (as there will always be evils to slay). The war is always waiting, but Sokie... Sokie is here and Sokie is now, and she'd brushed her hand over his thigh. What he owes her is the truth (Asura, he hates secrets, always has and always will), but also...

Some fucking fun. (Literally.) And hell, they've both earned it. ]

[ He notices. Sokie, she's all about little tics and tells, from how she goes quiet in the face of truths she doesn't wish to yet acknowledge for herself (they're the sort that just want to protect others from themselves), to how she averts her gaze, stifling her observant nature when she thinks she may look to someone (a friend, a lover, a fixture in her life) and meet with judgement of a kind. But... Asura is absent any strong reaction—Sokie's walked the mortal realm for far longer than he has, and no one's past is all pleasantries, especially ones where wedding vows had soured—instead, he simply comes to stand behind the mage, his taloned fingers carding through her hair, the gesture mirroring the one the mage had used to soothe him many a time. ]

That's the one. Chiseled to high hell and with flaxen hair that'd put a damn storybook prince to shame.

[ Far more delicate and deft than most would give him credit for, with gentle motions, Asura ceases to brush and card, instead massaging intricate filigrees and pattern against the nape of Sokie's neck, before...! His fingers sweep over that bitemark which he'd given the mage in exchange for the rake of her nails down his shoulderblades. The sting had been pleasurable, after all, and a gift should always be answered with another.

But the massage continues, as Asura recalls further— ]

His eyes were the blue-grey of steel, and the look he wore was adoring... [ Of you, he doesn't need to say. ] But he didn't last long, did he, if he was only your first.

[ Because from the way she'd said it, first, there's no doubt in Asura's mind that there had been more to come afterward. ]

[ Sokie's right. Asura, he would hate it if she went shields up, denying herself her rightful wrath (her sorrow, desire, fear, and all of the emotions that went hand in hand with promising yourself to someone else) by wearing some cool veneer which neither she nor the King (not now, not after all the moments—impassioned battles and heated kitchen arguments, surprising creature comforts and little indulgences, lessons learned from one another even after several lifetimes spent wandering the world—where he'd seen her spark and come alive) would believe.

But... it's still something largely unexpected, when she entrusts him with something that's so very weighty and yet so fragile at once. More than how her marriage had ended, it's that she had wanted children. Had tried. Found out only through the process that she'd been infertile. And at that time (Asura's no great historian of human civilization, but he's versed enough to know that it had been centuries ago, when the institution marriage had still been considered so sacred that it could only be severed under ordained circumstance), Sokie had been the one hurt by Prince Charming, the union they'd forged together dashed upon the rocks and all because that asshole Goldilocks felt entitled to more and couldn't look past it. Couldn't see Sokie for who she was. ]

You're quiet. [ Fingers kneading the muscle at the base of Sokie's neck, he finds the tension there and works to undo it, his voice not without it's even, rhythmic cadence as he speaks: ] Would've expected you to scream and shout something like that into the fire, letting it burn away.

You still can, if you want. [ Catharsis, in the form of flame and Asura's ear horn. ] It feels like you've been holding onto that for centuries, [ with how rigid the muscle of her back is beneath his hands] give or take a few years.

The idea of him. Of a family. [ The question which Asura asks next, it's absent of anything but a desire to know the woman who's chosen the name Sokie Undertown; to see her clearly: ] Does it mean something to you, still?

[ Or is it simply the bitter taste of a memory soured at the back of the mouth? ]

[ Giving pause in his ministrations, Asura bows his head, bringing his forehead to rest against the place between Sokie's shoulderblades with a soft thump! as though to say: hey, no more self-deprecation, okay? It isn't like her (though the idea of a family must have meant more to her than he had initially imagined when posing the question, inspiring the thought), and no one gets to disrespect Sokie Undertown on Asura's watch, least of all Sokie herself.

When he speaks, next, his words are thoughtful, drawn from what little he knows of the subject: ]

Think that's one of the main criteria of being a parent. Being shitty, in one way or another. I've never heard of any one person excelling at that job. [ The Vallanzasca patriarch and his wife included. How many times had their pint-sized brats clung to Asura's legs, asking him why it hadn't been safe to accompany their parents outside? If Asura could protect their mother and father, why couldn't he do the same for them? Why, why, why were they sheltered all the time, and why did their parents seem like strangers after being away at night? ] And from the outside looking in? It's always seemed like there's a lot of touch-and-go involved.

[ The could be no master-plan for rearing someone up, making sure they were safe, that they were always able to learn and to grow—or so Asura's of the mind. It's no different from the way he shepherds Hedgefresh recruits: no single person flourishes under the same circumstances, the same passage and rites. ]

But... if anyone's got something to offer to a munchkin, it's you Sokie Undertown. [ He smiles and as he does he presses his lips to her skin, letting her feel the gesture for herself before he begins the massage again, thumbs working pressure into her lower back to loosen the muscle there. ] You see the world in ways no one else does, and...

[ Even if it is not passed down to a child— ] That, at the very least, is worth showing someone else. It doesn't matter who it is.

[ For the record: if Asura had only been helping himself to a drink of whiskey from one of their 'Wilder's Reserve' canteens, it would have been spit out. All over Sokie. But as it is, Asura is otherwise occupied.

So instead: ]

I have thought about us many times. [ —he starts after a lengthy bout of silence, surprise causing the King's words to catch in his throat because, Sokie, that had come straight out of left field, all right? But the pause had been distinctly lacking in tension, and the massage had continued all the while (where was that spot, the one which would cause Sokie to thoroughly melt into his hands and sigh?), allowing Asura to gauge three important facts: the first, that Sokie did not ask him the question in jest. The second, that the thought (the question, the idea of them as parents) had just now occurred to her. And the third? Well, it's his own answer: ] I have imagined us as protectors and as warriors, and even as one of those damn couples from the romance novels you read to me. But...

Not about kids. Maybe because my kind, we can't have them. [ Inhuman as he is and will always be. ] Or maybe because I'm like you, and didn't think I was cut out for the job.

[ And yet, yet he'd always been a glorified babysitter for an absentee mafioso power-couple, and he had made it his life's work to take tender-footed and green Changelings into Summer's scarred and open arms. ]

But now? Yeah, you bet your ass that I'm thinking about it. [ Read: it's her fault for mentioning it to begin with. ] And I know that, hypothetically, if it were you and me, we could take on a brat or two together no problem.

Hey, Sokie? [ W e l l, she'd flustered hard and fast, hadn't she? Asura had presented a problem, and her mage's nature had gotten the best of her—she'd analyzed and she'd deduced a solution, presenting it (and inadvertently propositioning him) all in one fell swoop. And that swoop had left her backtracking like she were fearful (but that can't be true, can it? Sokie Undertown, afraid?) she'd broken something between them. But the reality is..! Conveyed in the moment when Asura shifts his position, chest pressed flush to Sokie's back as he reaches to tweak her nose between a fore and middle finger.

And as though it were some great secret, his voice falls hushed (if not vigorously so) when he murmurs into her ear: ] I want everything with you.

[ Fitting together every which way. Family defined on their terms. Storied battles. Reenactments of bad romance novels. Everything. And hey, they've got ten(s) of lifetimes to figure out the timing. There's nothing so awkward about that, right? Any blunder, any strain, is banished in its entirety by the King's avid, true, and unabashed proclamation. The only thing is...

He'd used Sokie's trademark move (the nose tweak!!) against her, and there's not a single soul to save the King from the mage's retribution out here in the depths of the Wilde. ]