Fires and fretting..

[Angel]

Snowy had been screaming.

The door was locked, and she had been screaming, and neither person beyond it had answered--why? Couldn't they hear her?

Fragile, human nails had scored gouges into the rough wood, but her other skin was elsewhere, hidden, and human nails were the only kind she had at her disposal. Both doors had taken a beating, but neither had budged. Locked. Locked tight from the outside, and the window that was prone to sticking because it had once been nailed closed--hadn't she warned Elliot about that, just some nights ago?--also remained stubbornly shut, the rusted hinges glued tight. She might have broken the glass, if she thought it would do any good, but the white-haired woman knew a trick--a trap--when she was caught in one.

All she could do was wait. Wait, and listen, as her heart beat like thunder in her throat, and the smell of fear and sex drifted through the cracks in the wood--of old, stale sweat, and of smoke and alcohol. Clayton's threats burned red-hot in her mind, but worse than the Pride's hollow, hateful words, was Zilliah's *lack* of response.

He left. He left, with the promise of his family's death at his heels. He ran like a coward the coward he was--that she tried to tell herself he wasn't--and that knowledge, that betrayal, left an icy chill in her veins where, moments ago, an inferno had raged.

It did not surprise her that as soon as she heard Zilliah's footsteps fade down the stairs, the adjoining door gave way, allowing her entry to his room.

She still had the look of sleep about her. Her white hair was messy, tangled in places, and her eyes were rimmed in red. Her cheek held the indent of her pillow. For all of that, though, she did not seem less--it did not make her appear vulnerable, though perhaps it should have. She stalked into the room on bare feet, blue eyes taking quick stock of the remnants of their struggle--Clayton's and Zilliah's. Her eyes widened at the sight of the fae's shorn hair, but she schooled her expression quickly and turned it upward, settling a hard, blue glare upon the Prideful man before her.

"What have you done?"

But that wasn't what she really wanted to ask and, in a quick, whispered breath-- "... where is she?"

[breeevil]

Standing there with a bag in one hand and a bottle in the other. A bottle that is quickly tucked in to his pocket as he turns to look at Snowy, a grin creeping up on his face.. one he tries to hide, trying to make himself frown but fails.
She looks a damn mess, this woman. he is tempted to ignore her all together until she dresses and brushes her hair, but the second question she asks has his eyes narrowing, grin turning from entertained to furious.

"Oh. You've lost your child -again-?" Clayton shakes his head, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he tosses the bag to the fae's empty bed. "Why am I not surprised? And of all peopel to question, you choose me?" Again the girl is gone. Ignoring the fact that the very first time Snowy ever even laid eyes on the Pride she left him in charge of her berated and abused daughter.. he is still upset that now the girl is missing. Again.

"What have I done!? What have YOU done, Snowy?" Clayton's hands are both on his hips, then.. the man taking long strides to pace between the door and the fae's perfectly made bed. "You have.. lost your daughter. Failed to entertain your mate enough to keep him in just your bed or even CARING that someone threatens to kill you and the child that no one seems to be able to.. or care to.." He waggles his brows a bit at her, "Keep track of. And you would like to know what I have done instead of thinking about what you need to do? Sit down, girl. You're as petulant as your offspring and as narcissistic as the man who just abandoned you in your sleep." He sneers at her, even spits on the ground in front of her.. a hand waving to the chair in the corner. All the time he was talking.. he was also taking. Taking her pride.. taking her courage.. just a little bit.. a tiny bit.. just a reminder that he -can-.

"I have -done- you a favor. Showing you what you chose to love. What you chose to keep you safe. Good luck with that."
He'll watch her for a moment, then, kind of waiting to get slapped. which will be comical.

[Angel]

Her fury is a mounting thing. It would be so easy just to stay here and attack this man--but where was her daughter? His response is enough to know that she had *not* been with Zilliah. There was no trace of her here, in the fae's room. Only his hair, and his fear, lingered.

... where was she? How could she be so careless, with her own flesh and blood? Wasn't it her fault, that Zilliah was so fickle--that he had left?

Even as the doubts crept in, as the chill of fear brushed against her heart like a cold breeze, she turned away from them, squashing them beneath renewed rage. She fought against Clayton's abilities, her mouth trembling with what might have been a suppressed snarl--it was an animal's response, and this was not an animal's body, but instincts died hard.

"You listen, and you listen good, you little insect of a man. I heard what you said to Zilliah. I *know* he's a coward, so I accept that that's the reason he left--but you... If you ever threaten my child again," no mention of how he had threatened *her*, "so help me..." She trailed off, her words ending in a low-pitched growl, as if the very effort of finishing the sentence was too much.

"I thought she was with him. She was *supposed* to be with him." She turned, rubbing her face with her hands, scrubbing her eyes and stifling a sound of frustration into the heels of her palms.

"For the record, Clayton--I don't care *who* he sleeps with. I only care about whether or not he puts my daughter in danger. But you sure sound jealous, for a man who claims to have no emotions." She didn't even look at him--she simply made for the door that connected their rooms, intent on dressing herself properly and *leaving*. She had a daughter to search for, and she had no time to deal with Clayton's self-righteous speeches for longer than she had to.

"I know who I love, Clayton. I'm going to go find her right now." Whether she loved Zilliah or not was up for debate--but keeping her safe? She had never expected or asked the man to do *that*. And now, after tonight, she was even more glad for her conversation with Elliot.

[breeevil]

Clayton stands there, arms crossing over his chest while he listens to her rant.
And then he laughs. Right in her face he laughs, his head shaking.. chest and shoulders shaking, too, as the throaty chuckles roll from him.

His threats were hollow. But she would have no reason to now or hear that. He really wouldn't ever kill Zinniah.. Snowy maybe but really he would have to have a better reason than just wanting to.
"You'll what?" Daring her to finish her statement, knowing she's got nothing to actually threaten him with.
He was about to say something semi-sympathetic, too.. but then she just kept on speaking. And the continued words earn a dramatic rolling of his eyes, one hand lifting to open and close his finger and his thumb. Mocking her. "Yak ya yak. GODS! You're worse than him. Meant for each other, you are. Never knowing how to shut your mouths before you start spewing bullshit or listen to the damn truth."
Clayton wonders, for a moment, what could happen if he happened across the child before her mother did but dismisses the thoughts from his head, knowing it's only something he would do to further torment Snowy and he does really have better things to do with his time. Like sleep.
And before Clayton can hear the last words Snowy speaks.. to prevent himself from offering to help find Zinniah, Clayton is turning on his heel to scoop up Zilliah's hair from the floor and moving out the door, whistling the same tune he was when he was moving towards the inn some time earlier, hands once again shoved in his pockets.