Her brow furrowed at his statements, lips pursing in a mild distaste at some facts and opinions he gave. She rocked back on her heels, now biting at her lower lip, eyes keeping his stare as she spoke in a monotone vocal, "do not feed from the dark souls, they are mine to return. They are corruptive, you know this."<br/><br/>She paused, head turning to stare at the crowd below them once more, speaking with emphasis now in her retort of a previous statement he made, "you will not bring harm to Arella, dark man. I did not wish her to have a body again, she does not deserve to feel such pain and I will not allow you to rip her from it. She has been through enough of that. If you try, I will fight you until one of us dies."<br/><br/>She means this, and her tone emphasizes it. Her child was brutally murdered for her soul, one that she herself took from the dead body, could not deliver for the simple fact it was a pure soul. Millicent could only reap dark souls, those to be sent to a gruesome outcome. Arella's, an innocent and bright soul, remained as a ghost for so many decades, and now, in a worse state in reinhabiting a body. Just to be taken again by a man such as she. He has the ability, she now knows, to take Arella's soul and deliver it properly; she cannot let that happen. She has chosen to revoke on her request. And she knows that this means she will battle this man soon enough.<br/><br/>She could keep him from feeding, perhaps. If so, he would weaken possibly and be easier to destroy, although, he could go on a bloody rampage and gain the strength to devour both her and Arella. Along with that comes the massacre of bodies he'd most likely be unable to clean up before he was caught, which meant she could get caught.<br/><br/>This isn't on the menu, so she decides to hunt for him.<br/><br/>His objective of two entities such as theirs not feeding from the other, she debates offering her own intellect on. She knows the risks, and also knows the benefits.<br/><br/>One reminder rings clearly in her head about such sharing; there is no turning back, there are no boundaries. It is a formidable friend and foe within a being; and causes much more than happy thoughts or an ecstatic aura.<br/><br/>He knew this as well. It causes a permanent bond that time, realm, Heaven nor Hell could break. Until one passes, the pair is bound forever. Marriage vows are easier to break with fiesty attorneys than this bond; kind of funny if you think about it.<br/><br/>This is why she questioned it, and was greatful he had other plans. She still did not know this dark man's name, and was getting used to that fact. She would name him herself, she supposed in her lost train of thought. Something like, "Magma", since he was a fiery pain in the ass, asking her to do his dirty work.<br/><br/>She giggled, eyes rolling for a moment, finally coming out of her thought-filled trance. She turns and leans out of the open window, head tilting sharply left, then right, bones cracking as they align once again.<br/><br/>Glancing behind her right shoulder, her right hand pulls up the hem of her skirt, bare feet tugging her in a low crouch on the windowsill, her left hand helping to keep her balanced by holding onto the window frame.<br/><br/>She spots a female, walking alone, looking the part with bunches of beads around her neck, stumbling in a drunken stupor, acting too rowdy and quite unladilike. She would do. Even if she tasted nasty, he wouldn't mind; he himself said taste didn't matter. She was just the 'bouncer', right?<br/><br/>She directed her eyes to his, "watch over my daughter, Magma. If she gets hurt, you won't have to worry about a meal tonight. I'll be right back."<br/><br/>With a push of her feet, she quietly falls to the stone ground below, no one really noticing that she just came barreling from above. Her hands pull up to her forehead, fingertips running through her hair, loosening the bun, a stream of her auburn tresses falling over her shoulders. She adjusts her skirt, shaking her hair out just a bit more, as if she were preparing for a big business meeting and wanted to look 'perky'. With a little shake of her hips, she moves down the street, bumping into people and grumbling, until she is behind the yucky woman.<br/><br/>Ten paces and the alley that connects her apartment is to the left. She hums as she follows behind the nasty tramp, and when they reach the alley's junction, her right hand quickly finds the woman's hair at the back of her head, snagging harshly, tugging as she pulls the wench with her into the alley.<br/><br/>Sure, the woman screamed, no worries. A clamped hand over the mouth stops that, you know? Then comes the infamous whisper, a dialect few know, which immediately puts the woman into a dreamy state. Millicent's thoughts lean to, "OH MARSHA! Look at THIS dreamboat!", and she chuckles, now releasing the woman's mouth and hair, holding her by the forearm with one hand, Millicent's other hand on the small of said woman's back, leading her into the back door of the apartment building.<br/><br/>Within moments, she is back at doorway number 13, stopping now and releasing the bleh human, turning it by it's shoulders to face her. There was no way this thing was coming into her abode. He could dine with it out here or something.<br/><br/>The human blinks, a stupid grin on her face, and Millicent has had enough. Long day, she's thinking bubble bath, relaxing, that sort. She shows her frustration and distaste for the human by giving her a hearty smack upon the left side of her head, which causes the woman to buckle against the doorway.<br/><br/>Clucking her tongue, Millicent taps on her own door, speaking in a high-pitched, smart ass tone, "room service!".