Someone coughed, and when Netta made to pull away, she found that she was immediately brought back to Ash's mouth, not by the suction of swollen lips, but by the needle-sharp protrusion of teeth latching around the curve of her lower lip. 

Netta gasped, swatted at his chest ineffectually, until Ash pulled away.

Ash smirked at her, the sharp teeth that he had used to clench onto her lip revealed, the bright stain of a small smear of her blood on his lower lip until Ash rolled his tongue over it. He winked at her.

Netta turned, raising a hand to her throbbing lip, feeling the little marks where Ash's sharp teeth had broken her skin. More than any sort of pain, Netta felt embarrassed by the brazen over-stepping of their roles. Her face felt like it was glowing from the heat of her embarrassment.  And, secretly, the boiling sense of lust that threatened to overwhelm her.

Lucia looked, with her arms crossed, as though she had been waiting patiently for Netta to acknowledge her. In spite of the almost polite, slight upturn of her lips, the look in the woman's eyes seemed to bely good humor, a light almost dancing freely in them. "If you two are done for the moment, me and the gentleman have come to an agreement. We have plans to induct Winnie into our family, tonight, in the woods. If you want to, you can accompany us to the clearing before the ceremony, and then -"

Ash interrupted, taking a gentle hold onto Netta's upper arm, making her jolt at the sensation of the magic and warmth flooding through the touch. "She must go beyond the clearing, walk down the path to the woods, on her own."

Lucia gazed at Ash, even at her greater height in comparison to Netta, she had to gently crane her neck up. The look of good humor had not faded from her eyes. "Is that so, ancient one?"

Netta felt her heart leap. The woman knew that Ash was an old soul, and Netta was mortified as she considered what else she knew. Perhaps, even, things Netta did not.

Ash spoke, his voice even, formal. "It must be done in such a way. She must decide for herself how far she's willing to go to satiate her curiosity, of her own volition."

The way he said satiate, this time in a way that seemed to have no double entendre meant, left Netta with a pathetic shudder. He had perhaps succeeded, finally, in cueing her very emotions to the merest thought, memory of his touch, sometimes simply at the sound of his rasping voice that betrayed a lack of smoothness that was indicative of the fact that he was not quite Human enough, even, to not cause the small hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end at the sound of it.

If Ash sensed her distress, he gave no indication of it, blessedly.

Lucia turned her gaze to Netta, seemed to not take heed of what must have looked like increasing distress on Netta's face. Her smile turned sympathetic, warm. "If it is her will, then I have no desire to meddle with the personal affairs of a family member, unless she is in... danger." She tilted her head to the side, regarded Netta with a look that suggested that she was trying to judge just how dangerous the situation set in front of her was.

Whatever it was that she thought she was witnessing, with Netta gently kept close to Ash by his hand on her shoulder, Lucia was stopped by Ash speaking, his voice never wavering from an almost eerie feeling of formality. "So will you consent to allow her to do this thing of her free will, without trouble from you?"

Lucia tightened her hold on her upper arms, tilted her head back up to gaze at Ash in a manner that suggested that she was examining him like he were a safely caged tiger. "I can do no more than ask you, inasmuch as a Witch can treat one of your kind with dignity and respect, if your motives are pure .  In comparison to what they have been in the past."

The way she said it, Netta felt, seemed to be an assurance that at the very least Lucia knew something of the Monster who had a gentle hold of Netta's arm. Something that she did not - or could not - understand.

Ash's voice seemed to echo in Netta's mind, pull her in like she was being compelled - perhaps due, in some part, to the nature of the pheromones that he had wantonly spread in her mouth with his tongue. "Am I being given a chance at redemption, at least in your eyes?"

"Are you worthy of it?"

"What's to stop me from lying to you?"

A pause. Netta thought that her heart would beat in her chest. She knew there was a game being played her, but she felt too drugged by her own lust and the physical aftereffects of Ash's kissing to recognize what it could be. Her body and mind felt stupid, slow.

Lucia was still, then her expression broke into a smile. She chuckled, shook her head gently, then sighed. "Watch how you overstep your bounds, beast. Lower your hackles for one moment, recognize that I am extending my hand to you, through the proxy of Neith here, in peace."

"A mutual focus of interest for both of us, then?'

"Oh, most certainly.  I want the safety of our would-be protector, in all manner of the term.  You do want her happiness, do you not?"

Netta wanted to say something, thought that she should have something to say. Almost everyone - with the exception being Winnie - was present in the room. Netta was being discussed like some helpless ward, and she could sense that there were rules that both willed to manifest and were mutually testing the boundaries of.

Ash sighed, the sound like a great bellows. "Oh, fuck it. If I wanted to -" he stopped there, implication burning from something unsaid. Insidious.

Lucia's smile broadened, the warmth from it not reaching her eyes. "Might want to watch your temper, that ego of yours. Just because your Master is freer with your reins than she should be does not mean that I am not here to watch over her. What was once done to you can be more than replicated. It can be dealt to you in such a manner that a hundred years' worth of torment will seem like a summer dream in comparison."

Netta felt her mouth fall open. She tried to hurry her brain, cursed her inability to, for once, have anything to say on her behalf. What she should be saying would be something akin to, "Oh, you don't need to worry, I'll make sure that he behaves himself."  There were, literally, hundreds of things that she had once been taught to think in order to keep situations like this from ever occurring.  They all passed through Netta's mind, but she could not form the words with her lips to say any of them, or anything in her defense.

Instead, Ash spoke again. "Touche, Matriarch. I will keep in mind that what we both supposedly want is her happiness."  

Netta didn't realize what was happening, at first, until she saw the way the women in the room gazed at Ash, their eyes wide.  Netta turned, just in time to watch as he lowered himself to his knees, pressed his hands down on the ground.  As Netta watched, she was struck, by how Ash's gaze never wavered from the Matriarch's face, red eyes unblinking, his features sober.   

Slowly, he bowed his head forward, great black horns lowered, then remained in that position.

Lucia's gaze flicked down to Netta, then back up to Ash. "Very interesting.  This will be a passage in our history that those to come after us will scarcely believe." 

Still bowed, Ash, his voice sounding hoarse, asked, "Is this enough?  Enough to show that I can - am capable of change?"

Lucia was quiet, and Netta felt a terrible fear rip through her.  What would she do, if she were forced to leave the Coven, because she could not leave Ash, even - if - she had wanted to.

Lucia looked up at Netta, stared at her, as though looking for something in her face.  Finally, she looked back down at the bowing Monster, said, "See to it that you do not lose memory of what you were, no matter how you claim to want to change. I certainly will not." She turned to the other side of the room, motioned to the other Witches. She left, and everyone in the room, save for Netta and Ash, left.

The room felt desolate then, horribly quiet. Still shocked, Netta jolted back to reality and out of her mind when she felt Ash take hold of her chin, gotten up from his bow with no need to move to stand, forced her gaze up to his.

Ash blinked softly at her, his ungentle mouth curving into something resembling tenderness. "Oh, let me take care of that for you."

Netta was stopped from asking what he meant when Ash swept his head down, rolled his hot, wet tongue over the the outer edges of her lower lip and the inner lining.

Netta moaned, threw her head back. Surrendering so easily.

Ash chuckled against her mouth, flicking his tongue back the opposite way before he withdrew. Netta struggled to regain any semblance of dignity. As she ran the back of her hand over her mouth, she felt that the wounds on her mouth had gone.

Looking at him, she found that Ash was patiently waiting, his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. Netta coughed, seemed to find her brains once she had removed them from her loins from where they had sunk.

"What was that about?"

Ash's face rippled with an infuriating display of patronizing good humor. "Oh, that? You should expect some bluster during the negotiations for a truce. Pretty standard."  He turned his head slightly, muttered so low that Netta almost missed what he said next.  "Had to trade my dignity, but that's not exactly worth anything."

"Truce? Negotiations?" Netta could hear how her voice was turning, hopelessly, hoarse. "What the hell is going on - what do you two know that I don't?"

Ash gazed back at her, then rolled his eyes, a slight smirk edging its way up his lips. "I thought I already told you how you could go about figuring that out on your own. All you have to do -" Ash reached forward, seemed to thoughtlessly take hold of a few strands of Netta's hair, rolling it between two of his large finger tips. "is trust me." He rolled his tongue thickly as he said trust. 

Netta wished she didn't shiver, so predictably, wanted to swat his hand away. "How can you ask me to? A name sharing's sacred, it's like being married -"

And Netta had said it, one of the words that she secretly feared was powerful enough to break whatever it was she had made with Ash. Something so fragile that forcing such Human romanticized ideals could potentially destroy it.

Monsters weren't Human men, weren't even men.  You couldn't hope to pin your dreams, wishes, on one.  Not unless you were hopelessly naive, stupidly hopeful.  Like child.

Ash stopped rolling her hair in his fingers, his gaze settling on her. He looked as though he were carefully watching her, reading her movements. He looked, and perhaps it was due to Netta's heightened anxiety, as though she were prey that he was carefully gauging the movements of.

Downstairs, Netta examined herself in the mirror, turning awkwardly in her dress. She was interrupted when she heard someone walk into the room.

Turning, she saw Morgan before the tipsy Witch gave her a large, sappy smile. "Howya doin'?"

Netta had to fight to keep from smiling at the sight of the drunk-happy Witch. "Ah, just - checking to see how I look. How are you?"

Morgan shrugged, in her stupor the movement looking dramatic. "Geh - hoping you enjoy the last two hours of your normal life. Ah, shit, I'm about to get all choked up all over here..."

To Netta's surprise, the woman did as she threatened to, sobbing loudly and dramatically. Finally, she sniffled loudly, then said. "I'm sorry, I get like this when I'm drunk. Can't help myself. You're my Sister now, ya know?"

Netta had to suppress a sudden laugh. "Yeah. I figured that."

"Ya know, this world sucks to Witches, and I may have been a bitch when you first came here. But. I forgot my point, the one I was trying to make, so instead just let me apologize so that we can get past this and maybe I can show you a present I got for you."

Netta allowed herself to be pulled to Morgan's room, and was promptly was staggered by the sight of it. It was easy to be blown away by the sight of books stacked on every available surface, the massive amount of handwritten notes, stacked on every available surface.

"Oh," Morgan said, stumbling into the room, "did I mention that I'm a researcher? 'Cause I am. Well," she hiccuped. "Was. I can see the surprise in your face, it says that this bitch sounds like she's full of shit, but I am actually a published - writer person - as such."

Netta glanced over, saw the drawing, in heavy black pencil, of the twisted, half-plant creature. She interrupted the woman as Morgan looked as though she was about to say something else. "You write about Monsters?"

The woman drunkenly nodded. "Been at it for seventy odd years, about the time that sex got real boring with Human men.  Where was I? Oh, yeah, been writing reference-y material since you were probably dealing with your first menses."

"I'm not that young."

"What was that? Well, you got me." Morgan threw her arms out. "Been doing this a long time."

As Netta glanced around the room, she felt compelled to bring up the name of an author of the type of material that it sounded as though Morgan claimed to write. "Have you ever heard of Namoiah Cloister? Sort of a lesser known researcher, but she wrote a lot of what I read, when I could afford my own library."

There was an uncharacteristic silence from the other Witch before she belted out laughing. "You're kidding! You read my things?"

Netta felt her mouth fall open. "You - you're the Nemean Lioness?"

Morgan swooned, almost falling over and onto a stack of books. After regathering herself, the older Witch said, "I haven't heard that nickname in a long, long time! I think I just mentally regressed about twenty years!" She laughed, and when she looked back at Netta, her face was almost fully red, flushed from laughter and the effects of the wine. "Ohh, well, maybe you can appreciate this, then." Morgan reached over and wrenched a thick folder off of the desk, waving it in front of her. "Well, don't just stand there," she said, her face wrinkling in distaste. "respect your elders and take what Auntie Morganna is offering you."

Netta took the folder. It was tough to keep her composure. She had told Morgan that she had read her work, knew of her, but it was a lie. Netta had read all of her published work, enjoying what little she could find of the lore of her people.

She opened the folder with a reverence that she could not hide, and was taken aback at the title of the handwritten manuscript that she saw under the folder. "The Deep King: the Tale of - of the Traitor King." Netta looked at the paper and tried to suppress her surprise. Or was it simply dismay? "This is what you've been working on for all these years?"

Morgan scoffed. "Way to make me feel old. And, yes - off and on, off and on..." she rolled her head around and repeated herself before violently shaking her head. "-too long. Some of those pages have been stinking up my desk since the Berlin wall went a tumblin' down."

Netta bit her lip, staring down at the title page. Morgan's handwriting was looped, intricate, giving away to a whimsical soul behind the mishmash of the scholarly, shockingly well researched that she had gotten the impression of after decades of reading her work. She should have been pleased with this manuscript, to hold it should make her dizzy. Anything written by the Nemean Lioness should have been good enough. Still, though...

"This is really about the Traitor King?" She could feel the tight frown on her lips and was powerless to stop it.

Morgan, who had flopped back on her unmade bed, groaned loudly, not looking up from where she lay on her back. "Why does everyone react like that when I tell them about the subject of my last book?"

Netta gripped the folder in her hands, felt the weight of the thick sheaf of papers encased between them. "Because - because - well,-"

Morgan interrupted her, giving her legs an impatient kick. "Go ahead and say it. It's a legend, It never truly existed, et cetera, et cetera, you've been wasting that genius and perverted mind on a folk legend..." She gestured blankly above her. "Heard it all before already."

Netta was grateful that the woman wasn't in a position to see her face. "I wasn't going to say that."

"Oh? What were you going to say, then?" When Netta didn't answer, Morgan sighed, then said, "Let me tell you something - hold on, help me to sit up first." Netta walked across the room and helped the woman to sit up on the bed. "Thank you. I've been researching that tale for decades, and from the start it never felt like a fantasy to me. It's funny, we never ponder why Monsters act the way that they do to us, what could have caused - this. The only explanation that gets offered is what's referred to as the Curse of the Traitor King, in the same way that people talk about Helios carrying the sun to and fro - and the so-called coming of Ragnarok."

Netta was finding it hard to ignore her surprise at Morgan's sudden sharpness and the depth of her passion. In that moment, even with it dulled by drunkenness, Netta could see a spark of the Witch that was called the Nemean Lioness in the squat woman gesticulating drunkenly on her bed, her glasses hanging, slightly crooked, across her button nose.

As she spoke, Morgan gesticulated wildly with her arms. "Monsters - they're drawn to Witches, prone to begging to be taken advantage of. Legends say that magical beings were once these - persnickety creatures whose power, if perverted, could be something like a natural disaster. But getting back on topic, it's just that, well - I just thought that you would benefit from reading this, because -"

Morgan glanced up at Netta, seeming to see her for the first time. she coughed. She seemed to suddenly realize something and gave her her best attempt at an embarrassed smile. "Oh, Goddess, listen to me. A-anyway, what I want to say is all in that," she motioned wildly towards the manuscript. "so if you want to hear any more of an insane woman's babbling, there you go."

Netta felt as though she was missing something of Morgan's intent. She cocked her head to the side.

"What?" Morgan groaned and fell back again on the bed. "Take that accursed thing with you - toss it in a river, tied with some rocks, I don't give a damn any more. I need to stop adding to that thing, before they find me committing suicide over another dead end I hit when reading the plagued literature that I can find on the matter. And... merry wife day or... whatever..."

"I can - you're giving this to me?"

Morgan was quiet for so long that Netta finally leaned over the bed and found that the Witch had fallen asleep.