#kaze: *walks in the door* mortem: ah. so you've chosen getting jumped--

[cursedfortune]

[kazeofthemagun]

One of the Witch's dresses, currently placed not on her person yet bearing the residual scent of lavender - so seamlessly interwoven with other smells of the garden, herbs and alchemy. The Hunter lifted it slowly, before bringing it up to his half-covered face.

One of the odd and yet charming aspects of the man of the dark gales - he didn't exactly skulk around. If he wanted to take a deep whiff of something pleasant, he simply did.

...She would find him with his face buried in black fabric, sniffing intently as a scenthound. Guess he did miss her after their recent period of separation.

There was absolutely no shame, nor any noticeable shift to his expression when he finally noticed her (or, at least, refocused his attention). If anything, he seemed rather self-satisfied as he extended his hand, returning the garment.

"Blood and blossoms alike suit you," purred the elder of the Unlimited. "Red and violet dance well together."

@kazeofthemagun

Where she was, no one could truly say but her. Legs curled inwardly; her hands cradled the odd crystal ball within her gentle grasp, seated neatly within her lap as she delved beyond what most knew. In her mental wanderings through old ruins and history, as she studied lost knowledge and pieced together the puzzle of unique spells that haven't been used in ages, she felt an interruption.

Curious spirits of knowledge tapped at her, curled around her conscious shape and whispered of a visitor within her domain. Politely the witch excused herself for this session and shifted away from the ruins; she channeled herself closer to home as she scryed, viewing her own clearing to see a familiar redhead crossing through.

Excitement bubbled up within as she carefully disconnected herself from the ether of all things, brought herself back into the known reality - or the one she chose to acknowledge as her own. Placing the crystal orb within her bag of holding, the witch proceeded to give a lazy stretch of her arms above her head - back arching against the gravestone she had been resting against for hours prior.

Upon her feet once more she cleaned up the space around what was meant to be her grave and padded out of the brush, returning swiftly to the cabin. Pulling open the front door she stepped in and found him there, face buried within one of her dresses. Perhaps some may be put off by such a sight but the witch understood the man before her, there was only a slight squint of amusement shown as she admired the sight. It was far more pleasant to see him in the flesh than not, after-all. She was certainly curious of his adventures away from this place they both could call home, together.

The witch ventured closer, accepting the garment upon him seemingly having his fill of it. Yet it didn't stay within her grasp, not when she could simply toss it onto the dresser nearby. It would seem her focus was only upon him, upon his return and she did not cease walking closer until they were a hair's breadth apart. Here and now black eyes took in her Hunter, assessed his condition and well-being both physically and within the energy that made up his being. Yet they did not stray far from his own gaze, far too much comfort found in the stares they exchanged.

"Oh? Thank you, lovely. I agree with you entirely." Mortem mused as she stood a little taller to wrap her arms around his neck, to draw the two of them closer until the distance was closed finally. Yet in this embrace the witch's gaze gleamed with a familiar playfulness, "That's why I love our dances so very much. Whether it's beneath the moonlight, or one with blades-- or something more carnal." Ashen lips curved into a teasing grin at the latter. "I do so hope you'll be visiting long enough to indulge me in all three... numerous times, preferably."

There was never any denying her interest in him in all ways imaginable. Red and violet mixed well when feet were sweeping across her hardwood floor or out within the grass beneath the moon - though he could be clumsy, he had come far as a dance partner. For dancing was just another form of combat and violence was a language they both knew intimately. It was why she loved to speak it with him, to tear each other down in the guise of building themselves up. Trust to restrain oneself and trust to go harder than others would existed within the same beautiful knot that kept the two of them bound. And speaking of intimacy... her cool fingertips danced along the back of his neck, desire ever evident in some capacity whenever she looked upon him. "I'll let you choose the sort of dance our reunion should consist of first~"