It is a little after Antipeak in the Hive. The cranium rats, sludges and other things that creep in the darkness along the crooked ways scramble for cover at the approaching footsteps.

The cloying mist, decaying buildings, and darkness have an eerie effect on the noises in the Hive. The sound of a body walking through a ruin might go unheard, but the distant scream of a Xaositect can seem like the barmy is right next to you. For the most part, he ignores the noises, intent on making his way to the Bottle and Jug. And then he hears voices, familiar enough to get his attention.

He carefully picks his way through the gloom, the magic that enhances his eyesight is fading and he worries about a misstep. He rounds a corner and finds the source of the voices. They are almost half a block away and it is difficult to make out details. One is a largish shape, probably a human or humanoid, and the other a smaller shape, clearly female. He hears another sound. A raven?

"This is it," says Killraven. "Hold on and I'll take you up."

Lilah does not hesitate. She leaps onto his back and hugs him tightly around the neck. "Don't do anything wild. You can't see a sodding thing . . ."

"I don't need to see from here," he replies. He hesitates for a moment, more to enjoy the warmth of her breath on his neck than to focus. Then, he stretches out his arms, concentrates, and launches himself into the sky.

Fernoch recognizes his tiefling too late to stop her. The pair take off and disappear in a second into the ever- present mist in the Hive. He clenches his teeth and sighs. "She can't stay in the sky forever. And when she comes back to earth, I'll have a surprise for her . .

Lilah squints into the rushing air hoping to see where they are going. It is useless. Even had there been no mist the gladiators' dreadlocks would have obscured her view. She squeezes a little tighter and simply trusts him to get them . . . wherever. His hair tickles her cheek and she smiles. It is surprisingly soft like feathers. She is dimly aware of Moc streakin past them and into the darkness.

They fly for less then a minute, going almost straight up. Killraven abruptly changes direction laterally and suddenly they burst through a curtain of chains. He lands on his feet and runs two or three steps and then stops.

Lilah looks around. They are in a room in a ruined tower. There is part of a ceiling above, four walls, and most of a floor. She can make out an area that must be a bed, a trunk, and some coverings on the walls. She looks over her shoulder and notes a curtain of chains hanging over an irregular hole through which they entered. The acrid mist is everywhere. Lilah wrinkles her nose.

"You can let go now," Killraven says, reaching for her hands which are still locked around his neck.

"Nope. I like it up here just fine. Your back's a lot sturdier than that floor looks." She tightens her grip, trying to get him in a playful choke hold. Her squeezing does not have the desired effect.

"Whatever. I've a light her someplace. Valas gave it to me . . ." Killraven turns in the direction of the bed and starts toward it. The floor groans somewhat in protest, but surprisingly nothing collapses. Lilah concentrates now on her stranglehold. The basher is flexing his neck muscles against her grip.

"Might as well try to squeeze water from a pillar in the Festhall," she thinks, giving up.

He pries apart her hands and gently lowers her down his back. Then he shuffles over to the trunk and lifts the lid, letting illumination spill into the room.

Lilah takes another look around, shivering slightly in the chill.

The trunk Killraven is reaching into is beat up and has a broken latch. The thing she thought was a bed appears to be just that. It is huge and round and covered with a coarse gray oilcloth. What she had thought was a wall covering is another such cloth draped over some tall furnishings. Candlestands, maybe? There are a few serviceable wooden crates arranged around a barrel that can only be a keg.

She looks back at Killraven. He pulls out a dagger from the chest. Its blade glows with a continual light spell and brightly illuminates the entire room. He holds as if it were a piece of crystal. She watches him carry it to the crates and the keg. He drives the blade into the top of the keg and covers it with a small, lidless box. The box redirects the light upward and softens the lighting to a much more subdued and indirect tone.

Moc drops in through the hole in the ceiling and lands on the opened trunk lid.

Lilah runs her hand through her hair and pushes it out of her face. She looks glumly at the bed and picks up a corner of the harsh cover. "You sleep on this?" she asks.

Killraven strides past her, grabs the material in two hands and yanks it off of the bed. Underneath is a plush violet comforter with bright red flowers embroidered on it. It looks expensive and ridiculous. Lilah cannot suppress a giggle.

"What?" Killraven says.

"Are you sure this is your style?"

"It's a feather blanket," he says, holding up a part for her inspection. "You know, this has feathers inside."

Lilah smiles broadly. "Oh," she teases, "it IS you." [Just like you, you could care less what it looks like on the outside as long as it has what you want inside]. She shivers again and rubs her shoulders.

"Killraven, couldn't you find a better place for a kip then a creaky tower stuck in the damp, cold and stinky mists?" She again wrinkles her nose.

Killraven wraps Lilah in a small section of the huge comforter. "I. . . . didn't have to think about the smell before." He starts to look around uncertainly.

Abruptly, Lilah realizes that this is the first time she has seen Killraven uncertain about anything since he had been healed.

Fernoch paces amongst the ruins of the building from where he watched his tiefling. "What is taking them so long?" He questions, wondering why she was in the Hive at this hour. He stops pacing and leans against one of the sturdier remaining walls of the crumbling structure. Wrapping himself deep within his traveller's cloak to keep out the damp chill of the mists, he listens patiently for the ominous flap of large wings. What his ears seek never comes, the only sounds coming to his ears the scratching of nearby rats, and the sounds of Xaositech celebrating several blocks away at Quake's.

His mind wanders to the earlier conversation with his fellow proxy. A decision made in haste and anger plagues his thoughts. Doubt haunts him, and he wonders if he should have thought on it longer, "By Thor's hammer!" he mutters in frustration. "Where is Lilah?"

A loud, "CAW!" breaks the uncomfortable moment, Moc calling attention to himself, hoping the female would feed him. His wishes are answered as she reaches into her belongings and tosses him some food.

Lilah fumbles with her pack, deciding which part of the floor looks the sturdiest before setting it down. "You know Killraven... this isn't such a bad kip." She looks up from what she is doing hoping to see the uncertainty leave his features. She continues sensing her words are starting to settle him. "I mean, I can do a couple of things to make the smell less noticeable, and I both think we know of a few things to keep the chill out." A devious smile plays on her features, hoping to take Killraven's mind off the disrepair of his home.

"Although, knowing what happened to that bed in the Outlands..." She leaves off seeing that half-smile growing on Killraven's face.

The gladiator can't help but grin, for some reason Lilah can always change his mood. They both begin to chuckle remembering the day spent in the Golden Anvil Inn.

Killraven strides over to the keg in the corner of the room, pulling out a well-used wooden mug, and filling it full. He looks around for another container to serve Lilah, but realizes he doesn't have one, never thinking anyone would visit his kip. Before he knows it, Lilah is next to him, pressing a steel stein into his hand. He feels the warmth of her body mold in next to him, enjoying the sensation and forgetting his task, he overfills the glass, sending ale cascading to the floor.

"Oops, let me help you with that, oh graceful one." Lilah closes her eyes for a brief second, her tail starting to weave a whimsical pattern, her fingers join the dance, soft wisps of color playing on her fingertips, which she then sends towards the spilled ale on the floor of the kip. The colors spread out, drying the ale as they go, then spreading all over the room, cleaning the dust and grime of many years, leaving a faint whiff of pine where they travel.

"There, that's a bit better." Lilah says to herself upon finishing the spell. "Is it satisfactory for now, Killraven?" She turns to look up at the large man, still holding the quite full mug.

"Beautiful," he replies, but he is not looking at the room. The dance of her spellcasting still lingers in his mind. He feels himself relaxing in response to the warmth she stirs in him. He takes a long pull of his mug and sets it on top of the keg.

Lilah flashes her eyes and holds his. [This is the part where he kisses me]. Her lips part slightly in anticipation.

Killraven does not kiss her. He is looking intently at her and motions for her to sit on one of the crates. She complies, slightly peeved that her usual gambits do not seem to have the usual effects with Killraven. On the other hand, she often unintentionally provokes a sensual response from him by doing nothing in particular. Puzzling.

"Tell me what you think -- the dark about this Rogan business," Killraven takes another pull.

"Me? What I think?" Lilah takes a light swallow. Thinking back on Killraven's assault on Rogan, she adds, "does it matter?"

"Yes. I am having . . . regrets. I should not have laid into him, right?"

Lilah shivers again under the comforter. She has no idea whether Killraven is testing her in some way or whether he is after something else. She tries something indirect. "Well, Valas thinks . . ."

"Pike it. I know what he thinks about it and I'm not interested in that. Valas knows less than I do about --- relationships. It may be the only thing in the planes that he doesn't have the dark of, probably because he doesn't want to. You're the only one I know, aside from Swan, who can get the drift of this. So tell me."

Lilah frets about her answer. The big basher seems to have pretty thick emotional armor, except there are some chinks in it and she seems to have a knack for finding them all. Finally, she replies.

"You shouldn't have done him." She takes a drink and watches as the words seem to draw little blood. "He's Fated. He couldn't have done any better than he did with the Hardheads and still be Rogan. He didn't sell me out, and that must have hurt him bad. And he tried to bob them the best he could"

Killraven sighs. He takes another pull. "I know, and I knew it too when I whacked him," he says with resignation. "I guess I wanted better from him." He frowns, and looks sad. Another new expression to Lilah.

"Why did you do it then? It's not like you can get him to change what he believes in . . . Faction beliefs come first when you're a namer."

Killraven heats up at this. "So I am told. Again, and again, and again. Why? Almost every faction that I have heard about has something about it that I believe. More than one of them have tried to get me to join, laying it on me like they had the last word on what's right, how to live your life, how to pick your friends. What's it to them if you've something else closer to heart?"

Lilah looks into her cup, where she knows no better answer can be found. "I don't know Killraven. I don't know. It's just the way of the planes I guess."

"No its not," he states flatly, and with surprising authority. "No its not. I don't believe it. I don't think you believe it either and that is why you're an Indep, so you don't have to pick."

Lilah swallows hard at that one. Spending time with Killraven is always SOOO interesting.

He stands up. "I am sick to death of it Factions have the dark on every belief except one - belief in each other. Friends don't let friends dangle no matter what "

"And they don't kill each other either," adds Lilah. [Did I just say that? 'm going barmy]

Killraven stops pacing. He sees her listening, not in a judgmental way, but in another way . . . of friend to friend. She is right, of course. He is resolved on how to fix things up with Rogan. But looking at her sitting on that crate, with her red tresses set off against the purple of his comforter, he is suddenly aware of his heart beating wildly in his chest, as if it were too full. The only time Lilah seems to have trouble understanding him is when he talks of his feelings about her. This time, he vows, there will be no confusion.

"I'll make things right with Rogan, but I can't justify what he did. All of this belief bullshit makes a body like Rogan, who should know better, into a leatherhead. Lilah, I believe there is something to the factions. Like this entropy idea -- Dragon knows I see it every day. That doesn't make me a sodding Doomguard. And I think Valas may be on to something when he suggests that powers aren't gods. Where I come from the gods aren't even powers. And Mercykillers have got the dark on justice, and the Hardheads know about discipline, and the Bleakers stand up for a body's dignity, and even the Xaositects can show you that life is dull without sponteneity. I believe in all that, and it isn't enough."

He focuses back on Lilah. He is a rock of smoldering intensity. That "certain something" Lilah periodically senses in him washes over her like a wave of heat.

He comes closer to her. "It's like being lost in the desert and not worrying cause you got an empty cup. You gotta have something in it, or you have nothing but dry, hot, air."

Lilah drains her stein and sets it down next to his mug on the top of the keg. He has that look in his eye that she saw first on the floor at the Golden Anvil Inn. This time she does not look away. She waits as he comes closer. Her alert senses compile subtle changes in the temperature, the electicity in the air, the feel and smell of the room. "What's in your cup, Killraven?" she asks, her voice a husky whisper.

He gently touches her chin. "Honor, duty, loyalty . . ." he still holds her gaze, "friendship, Valas, Chakan, Ovi, Nim . . . ." He hesitates with his words, although his lips continue to draw closer to hers. "and . . . Rogan . . ." He does not say her name. Instead he focuses on one thought -- [I will show you my heart]

Her eyes half close as their lips meet. The expected warmth and sensuality is there . . . and something else much more powerful. He seems everywhere, potent, confident, strong, determined. She momentarily forgets about boundaries, and complications, and reservations, and jealous suitors and lets her spirit mix completely with his.

He stops. Her eyes fly open. She wants some space, but she does not need to push him away. He has released her already and is stepping back although his hand lingers on her chin.

Lilah is torn between inviting another kiss and fleeing. She does neither. "Where did you learn how to kiss like that?" She wonders briefly if he is using a psi power on her, but she felt none of the telltale symptoms and it would be so out of character.

"I didn't know how to kiss until two weeks ago," he says, still looking at her.

Lilah flicks the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Oh man. If I taught you how to do that, I oughta write a book."

Killraven can not repress the grin brought about by Lilah's comment. He realizes she is trying to change the subject again, if ever so subtly, but allows her to lighten the mood a touch by playing along. "So, what would you title this masterpiece?"

"Well, I could call it 'How to Seduce a Big Barmy Basher', but I think that title is already taken." A mischievious smile lights her features. "Besides, I don't think there would be much I could say about that, since I don't think I was the one doing the seducing..." She trails off, the idea just occurring to her that her feelings had changed for this man. Lilah is again possessed by the need to flee.

The gladiator watches as Lilah's features turn from playfulness to fear. His brow furrows in worry, confused as to why the change of mood so suddenly. He watches as her eyes dart to the entrance of the room, aware that she is sizing up possible escape routes. Gently, he places his hand on her shoulder, "Lilah, what is wrong?"

Her tail twitches nervously as she feels the weight of Killraven's hand rest on her shoulder, "Uh, nothin', I... uh... I need some fresh air, the mists are starting to get to me, I think." She won't meet his gaze, her eyes lingering on the exit to the room.

Killraven watches in frustration as the fleeting emotions echo in her face and tail. He brings her gaze to meet his, softly pulling on her chin. "Lilah... Why do you want to run? There is no threat here."

She looks at him for a moment, her eyes finally coming into focus on his. She sees the concern and passion behind those eyes. [How could she want to run away from this? How did all of this happen? Maybe, it is just a dream. What about Swan? What about poor Fernoch? Maybe it is better if I stop now. How could I not want this? I do want this...] Her eyelashes flutter, and a single tear trails down her cheek. Killraven wipes at it with his thumb, a smile growing on her face as he does this. "I am sodding barmy..." she mutters as she throws her arms around Killraven's neck, the comforter slipping off her shoulders, kissing him with all the passion and fury of the earlier kiss.

Killraven feels like a rock in a sandstorm as Lilah lets her passion loose. He does not know why her face is wet with tears. He does not know what he said or did that set the storm blowing. He does not analyze it. He is simply grateful.

She pulls at the shoulder straps on his breastplate, trying to undo them without parting her lips from his. The fasteners each need two hands to undo them. She groans slightly into his mouth, still unwilling to break off the kiss or to even open her eyes to aid her.

He takes his arms from around her waist and tries to help her, but she has already undone them both. Clever hands.

She backs away from him, trying to crane her neck and hold the kiss and allow enough room for him to clear the armor from between them. The Baatoran green plate is big and heavy and when it is released it drops near her feet forces her to release his lips. She hops backward to avoid having her toes squashed.

The tears still fall down her cheeks but she is laughing now and trying to rub them off with the back of her hand.

"Must you always wear that thing?," she says, sniffing. "I mean really. You take a girl up into the mists to your kip and you still think you need protection?"

Killraven looks at his fallen breastplate and smiles. His dreadlocks dangle toward the ground as he bends over to move it out of the way. "Protection? This Baatoran green plate that Rogan bobbed me into buying was no protection ,you pierced my heart right through it." He carries it over to his chest and sets it next to it. "Expensive, " he adds, facing the wall, "but no protection."

His back is still toward her as he removes the rest of his armor while adding a few good natured asides about Rogan's buying acumen. He does not see that his off-hand remark has chased away her attempt at humor. ["Pierced my heart right through it?" Such words come easy to a dissembler, because they flatter and mean nothing. For Killraven, however, a simple truth.] The realization sparks a renewed storm of emotions long suppressed.

He stands and casts a sideways glance at her. His dreadlocks frame his dark, piercing eyes. He is wearing a soft leather jerkin and nothing else.

Lilah slowly starts walking toward him, undoing her own leather armor as she walks. She sees the heat rise in his eyes. "Do you think I can add another chapter to my book?" she says suggestively.

Moc hops around, alternating from foot to foot as the two humans embrace again. It is late and he is sleepy. Finally concluding that the wingless things will not be offering food he caws his displeasure and flutters to the top of a Killraven's trident and sticks his head under his wing.

Lilah snuggles deeper into the purple comforter. It is no use. Try as she might, she cannot recall the sandman.

She stretches her legs. Her thighs and buttocks are sore -- a not-so gentle reminder of last night. She smiles. At one point Killraven had ridden her so hard it felt like he was trying to physically do what he had earlier said she had done to him -- pierce her heart.

She feels exhilerated. She shifts lazily on the feather bed and buries her nose in Killraven's back. It is solid, like the rest of him. His breathing is slow and deep. Lilah traces his spine with the nail of her index finger, enjoying the feeling, the control of exploring him while he sleeps. He still does not stir.

She resists the urge to wake him. She decides instead that she will surprise him with breakfast. She wonders if he has ever before been awakened by the smell of good cooking. She smiles in anticipation and then scrambles out of the far side of the bed.

The aroma of cooking food drifts through the small dwelling in the tower. Her companion begins to stir from a deep slumber, the growling of his stomach answering the odors coming from her cookfire. She watches him closely as she tends the breakfast, seeing a smile spread across Killraven's face as he realizes what woke him.

"Breakfast is almost ready." She says to him, admiring his physique as he props himself up on one elbow, the comforter falling to his side. "It's not much, but it is the best I could do with my limited supplies."

Killraven sniffs the air, detecting the smells of eggs and meat, pleasingly spiced. "It smells good." He replies, the gurgles from his stomach agreeing with his statement.

The tiefling seeming satisfied with the state of the food, quickly fills two plates, one more generously than the other. She takes a moment to arrange the food on the plates, added a little something here and there, then carries them over to Killraven who is now sitting up in bed, the comforter draped over his lap. Lilah sets the plates down on a crate which she had pulled next the the bed, then grabs the waterskin hanging by her pack.

Killraven makes room for her next to him on the bed, never taking his eyes off the food which she set before him. It is carefully garnished, a touch of green and red adorning the food adding to the appearance, as well as the taste.

"Go ahead and eat, Killraven, no use in letting it get cold." Lilah grins in amusement seeing his hesitation.

He doesn't have to be told twice. He reaches quickly for the plate and begins hungrily, savoring the explosion of flavors that reach his mouth. "This is really good." He states, his mouth half full of food.

Lilah grins at his enthusiasm. "It did turn out good this time, I am going to have to remember this combination." She says quickly filling her mouth again, her appetite almost matching that of the large man next to her.

When both of the humans look sated, Moc glides over to the remnants of the meal, cawing at them to make way. The female pushes her plate toward him, chattering as she does so. "Here you little scavenger, hope it's not too spicy for you." Moc pecks at the plate, finding the food to his liking, and begins to eat.

"That really hit the spot. You sure know how to make a body work up an appetite", Lilah says teasingly. She gets up gingerly rubbing her backside and carries the empty plates over to the cookfire.

Killraven watches with fascination as she duplicates the spell from last night, the colors weaving in and out of the dirty plates and cooking pans. "You know," Lilah says grabbing the gladiator's attention back from the lingering remains of the magic, "Mom never let me wash the dishes this way... well, I mean, I usually had to wash dishes when I was being punished, or working off some borrowed jink, or lost a game, but when those things happened, I had to scrub." She looks up to see Killraven watching her intently, not sure if he is really listening or just enjoying the view. "I guess I did learn a little something about cleaning things right though, helped a lot with the cantrip, and how to manipulate the magic to make it do what I wanted."

She carefully packs up the dishes in her pack, the silence in the room a strong contrast to the music in her head. Her tail moves in time to the rhythm running through her mind. Lilah hears Killraven moving behind her, clothing himself and packing up his gear for the day. His movements are very strong and sure, everything going into its proper place, with very practiced movements. Donning her jacket, putting the finishing adjustments on the weapons underneath, she turns to find Killraven waiting patiently for her.

"Are you ready?" He asks, watching her heft her pack over her shoulders.

She nods, her brow creasing in thought. "I was just wondering what you had in mind to do today." She states, not really expecting an answer just yet. "I have some things I need to take care of, most can't be done with a big basher hangin' on my hip." Killraven's jaw clenches, not wanting to leave her alone for the day, knowing that Mover Four is actively hunting her.

He feels dangerously close to crossing a line himself, but he recognizes it and resolves not to. Lilah is an Indep, for one thing, and a nightrunner for another. She could not be herself if he smothered her to slake his need to assure her safety. If she was not herself, she would be unhappy and so would he. Besides, while in Sigil she is probably safer alone. He sticks out, she does not.

He will have to let her go, and trust to her and whatever powers (if any) watch over her that she will come back.

"Like Moc," he sighs aloud, shifting his sword on his back.

"Hmmm? Was that an answer?"

"No. Just me forgetting I have lips," he gives her a smile.

"I'll tell you what I have in mind. First, I will apologize to Rogan. Then, I will find Chakan and Valas to discuss what it is Chakan wants help with. Then . . .," his voice trails off. The mere thought of Mover 4 hunting for them, especially for Lilah, burns his guts. "And then I am going to get some payback from Mover 4."

"You're going to do what!?!" Lilah responds quickly. "Now, Killraven, don't go bein' a leatherhead and get yourself put in the dead-book by that barmy Hardhead." She slips her pack on the ground with a thud and approaches Killraven, fuming. "You saw what he did to Rogan, in such a short time... None of us are ready for a direct confrontation with him yet." She watches as Killraven grows impatient with her and tries to speak, but she cuts him off wanting to finish before he can try to calm her. "I will be the first to say what he did to Rogan deserves retribution, but we have to bide our time, finding more subtle ways to mess with his head. An attack on him now is only going to get yourself and all of us scragged or killed, and I'm not ready to be either."

Lilah stands in front of him, hands on her hips, her eyes burning like a raging fire. Killraven realizes she is finally done, and it is his turn to rattle on. "Look Lilah, I'm no leatherhead, I'm just going to send him a message. Remind him that we don't roll that easy, and that we can kill as well as him. Besides, I need to do something to avenge Rogan, since I wasn't there to fight for him last time."

The anger in her eyes starts to cede, Killraven's words making sense. She sees him staring at her, waiting for her reaction, jaw still clenched. [I guess Rogan getting scragged and killed really sticks in his craw. We agree then on that part. I only hope we don't screw this up.] "Uh... I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just didn't want to see you where Rogan was... I don't know... Count me in on the payback though, as long as you promise we are not going after Mover Four himself yet. Consider me a silent partner."

She walks back over to her pack, wondering what exactly he had in mind. Lilah considers telling Killraven about her plans for Mover Four's woman, but reconsiders, figuring the less people who knew, the better. She smiles thinking of the possible ally she could make if her plan works out. Hefting her pack on her shoulders again, she turns to face Killraven, "I'm ready now."