2020-04-27 - Doll Parts

It's not unusual to find Byron working into the wee hours of the night, especially as he's juggling several businesses among other work. So while he's sorting out various proposals and looking over several new contracts that landed on his desk just earlier that day, he's also handling a few personal business. With his phone to his ear, talking to his head of security, he's typing up a little memo in regards to finding more information about this Tom Collins and whereabouts as well as see what further dirt they can dig up on Turner's 'doctors'. More than likely, he's sending the message over to Magnolia, but he's also considering if he'd want a second pair of eyes and ears searching as well. Knowing Alexander, however, and this idea that Turner might end up dead if he doesn't tread carefully, Byron realizes that having more people 'in the know' was not the best of ideas.

Five after nine and he's still on call. Rising to stretch out his limbs, he abandons his office chair and wanders out into the main room. He's nearing the end of his call and wanted to get a head start on just unwinding and to let Lilith know that he was about done. As he was working from home, he ditched his suit jacket, but still chose to wear his white dress shirt and slacks. He still even has his tie on, completely done up.

"I don't know where they'll be coming from, just keep your eyes peeled. And if anyone tries to get anywhere near me or Winslow, call me immediately. Even if it's just trying to get into the building. Right. All I know is someone's tailing me and I'm paying you enough money to put a stop to it."

Not finding her out in the living room, he takes the tail end of his conversation into the bedroom and then the bathroom, both of which are empty. Yet, there are signs that she was there recently. The first is the way her fragrant scent lingered within the room. The second, the curling iron was still on. This wasn't a small bathroom, though after a quick check of the shower and even calling out her name, Lilith was nowhere to be found.

"I have to go. But get back to me if you hear anything."

Moving through the apartment, he even peeks into the guest bedroom and the guest bath, before he heads out to the terrace. Still no sign of her. "Lilith!" His voice grows louder now and he even does a mental scan of his surroundings, trying to pick up her emotions, her thoughts. Her very presence within the place. Unfortunately, he can't feel Lilith's presence anywhere and what he does pick up are the thoughts and emotions of a few of his tenants just one floor down.

Heading back to the bathroom, he slowly pulls the plug on the curling iron, while giving the room another look over. In fact, he waits there for a long moment, not quite sure where her point of exit was, but eventually, he steps back out to see if there are any other signs that he might be able to find somewhere in the apartment. Usually, if one were to go out to the terrace, they'd leave the French doors open, but that seems to not be the case here.

"Lilith!" He calls out for her again, not expecting an answer. It's rare that he's on this side of the Dream and it makes him nervous.

The Dark Collectors called their due. Three people in Gray Harbor disappeared at exactly 8:47 pm.

At that time, Lilith Winslow was in the master bathroom of the Penthouse, putting on lip balm with a pretty rose tint while leaned into the mirror. The locks and strands of her brunette hair are curled and lush and arranged in lazy spills that are elegant beauty. Her makeup is accent and highlight of eyes and lips, mostly, and the nightgown she's chosen to wear is a vision. It's a pure white slip piece that might as well be the evening gown of sleepwear. Fully opaque with a layer of embroidered mesh lace stitched in panels along the bodice and v-drop from decolletage, the garment is long with modest concealing, but it skims and clings to the body in the way that tempts imagination. It looks like princess lingerie or honeymoon bridal attire, it's absolutely angelic.

In fact, the very second before Lilith is swept with nausea and feels magnetized from the inside out, she's thinking she looks a little like Snow White with her dark hair and flushed lips and fine picturesque features on display in the bathroom mirror. It's encouraging. She wants to feel bold again, the way she should with him. The woman smiles a touch at her own reflection and for the first time in days and days, she doesn't let her worst thoughts and fears and insecurities get the best of her. She's happy and looking forward to nine o'clock.

Then everything changes. Lilith Winslow disappears.

Twenty-one minutes later, the woman shows up in the bathroom again, on the floor, and she looks much, much different than she did when she was standing in there prior. She arrives seated in a kneel, leaned forward against the palms of her hands, as if she's trying to keep herself from heaving or fainting. Some of her hair is still curled. Some of her skin is still smooth and pale. Her lips are even still delightfully flushed. But that's not what's noticeable about her now.

Lilith is splashed, sprayed, and partially soaked with dark blood. Her once pure white nightgown is soaked and splotched with the gore of violence.

It's a terrible kind of contrast. Her eyes are wild and she's shaking like a leaf. Once in the harsh light of the bathroom after being in so much gray haze and darkness during a Dream, she starts to lash out to break the bulbs with destroyer adrenaline and reflex. It's disorienting, it's too bright, her eyes wince closed and she comes out of her kneeling sit to try and stand up, just in case. But she gives up part of the way through and pitches forward onto her hands again from kneeling sit when vertigo and nausea hits her in wave.

Lilith just knows it smells like home. She doesn't trust her other senses, her eyes, her ears, none of that, but this bathroom smells like home. The coppery lacing smell of blood is coming from her. It keeps her from dry heaving and it makes her want to call out desperately, despite the wariness and wild eyes. She needs something else to know what's real. Small and desperate, she tests his name.

"... Byron?"

Being unable to do anything but to continue to mentally search for her and scan the apartment every so often, Byron gives up in his pacing to come to a stand in the center of the main walkway just between the kitchen island and the couch. The muscles in his lean frame remain taut and while he may take up a semi-casual stance, his feet apart, one of his hands tucked into pants pocket, there's very little else that says he's relaxed. In fact, his shoulders remain tight and squared and there's this ever present intensity to how alert he is at the moment that's clearly written on his face.

He was concerned with the whereabouts of Grant Turner and his lackey just before her disappearance. He knows that neither men have anything to do with this now.

Pulling out another feeler with his mind, right before he hears the feeble voice calling from the bathroom, Byron can sense this strong wave of emotion strike him, alerting him to her presence. If not her, then someone else in the building was having a terrible time. Taking quick steps through the bedroom and into the bath, he hurries to Lilith's side on seeing her soaked in that blood, dropping down to one knee to better assess her condition and to aid her to stand if necessary. It's hard for him not to panic inside, seeing her this way. Was this her blood? Right now, he can't even tell.

"Lil! I'm here now. Are you... Are you okay?" He doesn't even has to ask what happened to her or where she went. He might not know the location, but that doesn't matter in his mind. All that he needs to know is that it was some Dream that she was sucked into. "Are you hurt?"

Lilith doesn't know if she's hurt. She honestly has no clue, her adrenaline is so high at the moment, she can barely function. Her instinct is to immediately go to autopilot, to let Byron pick her up, to just try and shut everything down by force while she's amped high and dangerous. But she's also still not sure this is actually Byron, she doesn't want to hide, she's racing on the insides, a ball of shaking kinetic energy. She has to wait to know if she's safe, she has to know if it's all of him, not just a shallow and fabricated piece of him, she needs to be sure. The way Dreams work is twisted, it's not beyond a Dream to yank you from horror and into what's perceived as the arms of safety, all in the name of yanking the security rug out from other.

And that was a very dark, dark Dream. She's wearing the evidence of it. If this is a facsimile of Byron, she's ready to take this one out too. And so, on her own will with his help, she rises to shaky stand and draws herself up for his inspection. She's breathing fast, she's staring at him wild-eyed and desperately, trying to take in every detail. Then suddenly, she shuts her eyes and decides to take a gamble, to sense him without her eyes, she'll know, she'll know, she'll know. Lilith has to have faith in this at the very least, even though she's so many animal instincts and reflexes right now.

"Tell me something real."

It's so hard to tell if this is her blood with that soaked nightgown on, but as far as Byron can tell with inspecting, she's not standing wounded with her posture. There's some marks on her arms that might be claws or scratches, but there's no way that much blood came from such minor things. If he's real keen, he can find something like a seared burn mark on the back and side of an ankle, but that's it.

It's really hard for Byron to make out whether Lilith is injured when she's saturated in so much blood. The blood tends to hide injuries well enough and even if she's showing no signs of actual pain when he helps her to rise, for all he knows, she's in shock, so might not be registering the soreness and discomfort. Thus, he'll ask again: "Lilith," The name is spoken to help get her attention if her mind is drifting, "Are you hurt? Is this..." He doesn't complete that sentence, but he's asking if this was her blood. Right now, he can't tell if some of this blood is pooling from her and soaking into her gown or if this is something else altogether. Something else's blood.

"I'm going to remove your gown." Again, this is all said as to not alarm her and to keep her mind focused. "To check if you've got any injuries that need immediate attention. Then I'll decide whether I need to take you to the hospital or not." Really though, any smart person would do that , especially if one isn't a medical professional. After that warning, he grabs parts of the blood stained gown to lift up and over her head unless she protests, though when she asks for him to tell her something real, he's taken by surprise and quickly states, "Real? I'm real. And I'm going to take care of you."

"My ankle is burning." Lilith manages that after Byron gets her to focus with repeat of her name and worry as to how much of the blood on her dolled up and carnage-blasted body might be her own. She sounds a little confused by this, as if in the middle of a hurricane, she's noticing a bug bite, of all things. She knows it's burning, but it's not bothering her while she's standing there shaking incessantly. It feels like an extension part of her and she just happens to know because he's asking with persistence, trying to break through.

The lights are so bright. She thinks she can hear them buzzing. Again, Lilith starts to flash with power that she fizzles out last second. It's not human and rational to lash out at the lights for doing what lights are supposed to do, but it's what she's driven to do. Byron is here. Byron is here. Abruptly, she realizes her nose is bleeding, but there's so much blood on her at this point, does it matter? It doesn't hurt, he asked if she was hurt. Her mind is going everywhere, all the places in the bathroom, she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

No tears. Listen to him. Wait and see if you're safe.

He sounds so much like Byron. He's doing what Byron would do. He cares. She can feel that he cares. Her arms come up with shaking over her head as the nightgown is peeled off and away from her body. Her matching panties are splotched from soak through, but not as much bad state as the outer layer. Her skin is smeared with the blood that was soaked through the fabric, mostly at the chest and torso levels, but he can see it's smooth and intact and heaving quick with skips of rhythm. She's about to hyperventilate with so much overdrive kicked into gear.

Lilith isn't shut down, thank goodness, but she's disoriented and rattled as hell while trying to get her bearings. Something has kicked her into 'on' mode so hard, he can tell she's having trouble processing and controlling, no doubt. She's far more dangerous this way than she would be while self-protecting or catatonic. Whatever threw her switches this extremely must have been nasty, further confirmed by a sudden confession.

"I don't know how many people I killed. They were in pieces when I was done."

When she draws attention to her ankle, Byron takes a look down at it for inspection and while she may be soaked in blood, it's so far removed from where the bulk of the mess is that he has a better view of the injury found there. He's looking down at it still, all while working to remove the bloodied gown off from her. If Lilith thinks that she can hear the lights buzzing, Byron can feel the electrical currents flowing through those light and into the walls via wires. Even as she starts to light up, glowing ever more brightly in his eyes, the way she does when she's ready to lash out, he's not quite sure what the focus of her ire is. Unless she's showing signs of wincing or squinting as if being blinded.

"Your ankle. Where else?" He asks, probing her with questions now, again to help her focus but to also relay what information that he cannot clearly see. With the nightgown finally off her and discarded onto the floor, he moves his hand over her crimson coated skin in search of any deep gashes or a wound that's gushing out or even one that needs cleaning and disinfected. It's here, when he senses her quick breaths does he try to sooth her mind with a feeling of calm. Of safety.

For now, he seems satisfied that she won't, at least, bleed out on him. Perhaps there was no reason to take her to the hospital, but he had to be sure. "You mean Dream constructs. They aren't real people." He tries to sound as reassuring as he can as he finishes up his inspection. By now, the sleeves of his white shirt, and especially the cuffs, are smeared with her-- no, something's blood. The rest of the dress shirt has a smattering of it down the front. "I'm going to run the water in the tub and we'll get you cleaned off, alright?"

Lilith shakes her head some at Byron with helplessness or indication she can't feel anything else. Her slow trickle of blood flow from the nose, though, is a little more apparent now that she's been checked over other places. In fact, it seems to have possibly cropped up when she started to lash out and fizzled out in the same moment, but he's seen her get a nosebleed before from exerting very hard over a distance. If she was literally ripping what she believed to be people to pieces that has to be quite an exertion for her, no matter how long she thinks she can go slinging power around at things when strange and danger happens.

Byron can see she's trying to hold still and not shake through the survey, but once one tremor racks through her and it looks like she's done, it all starts up again like perpetual adrenaline waves that are manifesting physically. At least until his calming mental hold fans into her mind. The sensation seeps through all the whirlwind high emotions that aren't rational or witting, the residual violence, the craving for more visceral destruction, the agitation and hypersensitivity. It falls like the softest weighted security blanket to knock all the edges off of the more expected feelings, the fear and confusion and paranoia, the shellshock horror that comes with extreme exposure to human gore. Lilith doesn't think about the carnage she wrought en masse.

The woman's breathing levels out and she turns to look at herself in the mirror after a small nod at Byron's words. She knows that. Doesn't she? The garish image of her body seems to captivate more than distress, especially with the new ease of mentally crafted calm upon her. While he goes to start the water, she stares at herself, then removes the panties with hook of thumbs and downward drag into sliding fall down blood-smeared legs. Lilith remembers the way she used to look in the mirror, she looked like sex and fairytale.

Now, though? Lilith thinks about how she looks like her mythological and Biblical namesake, a demoness bathed in blood. She can't help but look at this image with a rueful slip of smile, seeing such garish contrast in the present. She's sad she doesn't look like Snow White anymore, but she thinks about how the image she's seeing in the mirror is truthful. There's no such thing as princesses and fairytales. This image is far more representative of the way she's made inside. But...

Lilith still has a prince. No. She has a king. She remembers that when she hears the water.

"Thank you.".

It's not much. But it's something and she seems to be present enough to mean it.

Byron will only leave her side once he feels her start to calm under his influence. He could tell that she was still shaken though, yet he can also catch a hint of that exhilaration that also courses through her. He doesn't say anything about this, however, as he goes about his business, making preparations for her bath. He has a variety of towels and wash cloths ready and he doesn't fill the tub up completely, knowing full well that it will just turn crimson once she settles into it. So instead, he lets the water run, at least for until they can wash away the ichor and gore.

Unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves, he rolls them up to the elbow. In truth, it might be better for him to remove his shirt altogether and work on getting the stains out, but that's nowhere on his mind at the moment. Putting Lilith back together is his primary focus.

Wetting a small wash cloth beneath the steaming hot water from the tub faucet, he rejoins Lilith and starts to dab away at the blood right below her nose, cleaning up some of the blood on her face in the process. With that, he takes her arm gently in his and leads her towards the tub, helping to keep her steady as she settles down within it. "We're going to get you cleaned up, so sit back and relax. Let me know if I do anything that hurts."

The woman is functioning docile now, in a quiet state of adjusting, thanks to Byron's influence and handling, which is far better than the unpredictability that was vibrating off of her just moments before. When the man steps over to dab under her nose and on her face with the wet cloth, Lilith turns away from the blood-marred mirror image of herself and bats off whatever she was thinking with mascara darkened lashes. Somehow, all the spray avoided her eyes and her cosmetics are still dolling her gaze to damn near ridiculous levels of pretty in artful contrast. Honestly, there's probably a photography market for things like this, a woman naked, smeared with blood, looking like she does with that fairytale princess profile.

... probably not something to capitalize on, but...

Lilith is staring so intensely at Byron for a moment there, he probably doesn't have to guess that the only thing stopping her from pouncing him on the turn of a dime is his mental kiss to make and keep her in a state of ease and calm for the time being. But then she's being led to the tub and it takes that moment of her eyes for his eyes. Focusing on where she's going with residual slow caution to her steps, she moves into the water with the man's aid and settles down quietly, lashes dropped downward to stare at the water changing color. Her eyes fix and follow the swirls of blood diffusing the bath.

There's no more words out of her, but at some point after she's settled and the water has shaded pink, she looks at Byron instead of the water once more, quiet and passively observing.

With the sleeves on his once white buttoned down shirt rolled up, complete with the black slacks and maroon tie, if not for the blood, Byron looks like he's been working on a project for several grueling hours, to the point of saying 'fuck it' and going business casual over business formal. With the blood stains, however, he looks like a thug who just thrashed some punk in an alley way.

With a fresh wash cloth, he pours some body wash into it before slipping it beneath the running faucet to dampen before he starts to carefully dab away at some of the blood staining her skin. She can feel the nice heat of water rush over her shoulder, where he starts, after he squeezes the sudsy liquid over her bared form to get her further wet, then working once more to wipe away at the blood. He does this in a gentle and slow motion, rinsing the cloth out every so often and making sure that the water drains once it starts to darken in color.

He's meticulous in his work, paying full attention to this task at hand, but when he catches Lilith staring at him, he'll flash her one of his very faint smiles. This even changes the course of what he's been doing, reaching out to clear up the rest of the blood splatters on her face that he had missed before. Having been working in silence for the past few minutes, himself, Byron finally speaks up as he rinses out his cloth again, before squeezing the newly absorbed water out above her crown but more so that the water can seep down her back and saturate the bloodied locks that tumble down behind her. "We'll get you washed off and tuck you into bed. Unless you're famished, then we'll try to get a little something for you to eat before hand."

There's a lot of things Lilith could say right now, things she could do, but she doesn't much want to bother. There's still a sense of detachment hanging around in spells, even though she knows what's real and safe now. Byron is very much himself, he'll clean her up and make everything better. Sometimes, the worse the dream is, the harder it is to mesh back into what's good and solid. One moment, she's in blood and darkness and the next moment, she's safe and cared for. There's such a contrast with no transitional middle, it can leave a person reeling, and she was so adrenaline high, it might not be a stretch to guess that even behind the calm, some of the highs and urges that chase such sensations are still there.

Like this, though, such feelings are leveled out to be no more powerful than any other emotion, it keeps the tempest inside her still. Lilith doesn't have to fight herself, it gives her more room to integrate the idea of this moment in the tub, the soaped cloth and the hot water working her fragrantly clean, the feel of being doted on and washed clean of violence. When Byron trickles the water with squeezing rinse over her hair, there's a subtle tilt upward of the woman's face to hold with obedient pose and subtle sense of relish.

Lilith doesn't seem to have any words still, but her brows draw down just a touch right after he's loosely suggested eating.

She was feeding Them.

Knelt down besides the tub, Byron continues to work with a gentle hand to wash away all of that blood. As he moves the soapy cloth over wet skin, he carefully inspects her for any wounds. He knows that she'd hurt her ankles and that he saw signs of aggravation at her wrist and arms, so he takes gentle care when he reaches these areas, even brushing over one of her wound at her wrist with a rub of this thumb.

He can still sense a turmoil of emotions within her, a waxing and waning of her mental state. Letting the newly rinsed wash cloth hang off the side of the tub, he pours some of Lilith's fancy shampoo into his hand, rubbing together, before working up a lather in her already damp hair. He works to massage at her scalp and along the back of her neck, all while ridding her of blood. As he does this, his mind thinks back on this thing that has attached itself to Lilith as he tries to soothe her mind with his touch.

He'll leave her to her thoughts, believing that she needs the time to collect herself due to what she'd experienced. And from what he could tell, They were forcing her to do some unspeakable things. He stays close. After a while, he reaches over so that the flow of water intensifies. Using his hands, he cups them over her head to carefully rain water to wash the soap away, which can be a lengthy process. At some point, and he'll warn her, some of that water washes down her face, so he'll make sure she has her eyes closed.

Among these vibes that he picks up from her, he can this dark lust as well. There's even a moment where, while he continues to wash her off, he stares at her face, her profile, even if observing visual cues is never as good as what he can learn when reaching out to her mentally. "After we dry you off, do you want something to eat or drink? Or is bed rest in order?"

Byron can see with the blood washed away that the seared burn on the woman's ankle is only as severe as if she briefly burn seared herself on the inside of an oven door. The mark is long across and probably burned a little in the hot water, but it's honestly fine. He can also see the scrapes on Lilith's forearms and wrists are a few rogue fingernail marks that probably came from a slipped grab. It'd be a stretch to call them nail gashes, as they're mostly red lines with skipping tiny tears of skin. Other than that, each surveying slick of fingers and gliding rub of cloth over the flesh gives him prolonged, tactile assurance that she's not hurt, even shampooing goes well.

Lilith likes all of this. She likes the touching, the washing, the rubbing, the feel of Byron's hands, the drag of the cloth, the heat of the water and the way it makes noise when it trickles down with his bidden rinses. And he knows, despite her quiet state, that she's highly responsive to all the stimulus. There's goosebumps occasionally left behind his touch, his voice draws her eyes, his very smell in mingle with the fragrance of her shampoo when he washes her hair makes her sigh with soft pleasure despite herself.

Desire has never been hidden well on Lilith, and she's mindlessly starting to move with it each time she shifts or eases into motion to accommodate. Sometimes her eyes follow his hands and go thick with hazy distraction and he sees other body responses, despite the calm laid upon her. There's a lot of things Lilith thinks about doing while she's quiet. Even with the mental easing on her, she's tempted, so tempted to move his hands to do more, to feel another high. She still feels the highs that came from lashing her power free, the surges of pride and delight and relish in the destruction, she doesn't want to lose the feeling.

The warning comes for the rinse of shampoo and after looking at Byron for a distracted moment of subtly held breath, Lilith closes her eyes and tilts her head back more to angle most of the spilling water back over and through her hair. Calm compliance makes her obedient instead of reactionary to all these thoughts and emotions and tangible physical feelings. His suggestion comes again, and she considers while her eyes are closed, finally breaking her silence and thoughts to make reply with pick from those options.

"... something strong to drink." There's a pause, then she speaks with soft gratitude again, "You're incredible."

It's no surprise that Byron's shirt, his black slacks, they are damp with water and, at least for the shirt, stained with blood. He doesn't seem to notice or mind at the moment as he's far more focused in getting Lilith good and clean so that she can get her rest. There's a lot of questions racing through his mind about this incident, like what she'd experienced and such while there, but he holds off asking any of that until he knows that she's good and stable. Or some semblances of that.

He'll make sure to wash and rinse her hair out until the water cascading down her body and starting to pool within the tub turns clear. The physical signs and the ways that her body reacts to his every touch are quietly noted, though at the moment he has his professionalism cap on. Despite the emotional vibes he's getting from her, he only has a small idea of what she'd gone through, so he's not quite sure what will suddenly trigger her into lashing out or withdrawing into herself.

Only when he's satisfied that she's mostly clean, with one hand, he helps her to stand and rise up out of the tub. The other reaches for a big fluffy blanket in which he drapes around her from behind, carefully pulling her into his arms as he does so. Brushing his prickly chin against her newly washed hair, he holds her there for a moment before he goes through the motions of toweling her off. "Do I give the best head massages?" He asks once he's told that he's incredible. It's not a serious question as there's this ghost of a smile on his lips. Helping to dry her hair off, but not being skilled in the ways of putting a woman's hair up into a turban, he lets her damp hair rest against her towel covered shoulders for now.

It's only then that he finally leaves her side, to make a grab for one of his robes that she likes to wear so much and once she's towel dried, he helps to put this on. "I'm here to listen when you ever want to talk about it, alright?" There's this warmth in his words with just this hint of concern. Leading her from the bathroom to the bedroom to help her settle down, they find Smog knelt down into a breadbox at the corner of the bed in view of the bathroom entrance. "Look who's here to keep you company while I go and pour the both of us a drink. Might even bring the entire bottle here."

When Byron gets her out of the bath with slosh of water, Lilith doesn't look behind herself or down at her newly cleaned and intact healthy body after whatever the ordeal was. She watches him, largely keeping eyes on his as one leg, then another steps with drip onto the mat. And when his arms draw her in, swaddled in that wrapping, she feels pretty together again, but has to fight the brief urge to melt into tears of upset for him to comfort. It's triggered by the realness of the bristles prickling through her wet hair at the scalp. It orients her and it makes the time spent in the bath less like a haze too. She's fully relieved and feeling safe, even without the mental aid now, this moment of full re-orienting upon her.

Lilith may be out of sorts at the moment, but she's still pretty damned Lilith and she refuses to cry. He's done enough to help her get out of that tub and stand on her own, so she does that, nuzzled in with lean for a moment of quiet. When he withdraws to shift them between rooms, she gets into the robe and plays with the robe ties before doing the towel wrap on her hair of her own volition. And once on the bed, she scoots back against the pillows on her own too, taking up more play with the robe tie, "... I was going to surprise you with something pretty. I was going to..."

Be Lilith. She was going to be so very Lilith with him again without shame, it's the only way she knows how to truly be with him. Alive, alive, alive.

"Mm." Lilith cuts her lashes over to one side with delay to look at the cat seated there. It stares angrily, but instead of challenging it with smacktalk or general deprecation or worries it's going to kill her while she's reeling, she says to the creature, "... I know. I'm mad too." After leaning forward to scrape her fingers with indicative curl, then pat on the bedding to invite the cat up with small gesture, she looks at Byron with a hint of a smile, "The bottle. The whole damn bottle if we're going to talk."

There's serious pause with weight there, "Thanks. I'm okay now."

Once Lilith is comfortably laying down on the bed with her hair neatly put up in that towel turban, Byron heads into the walk-in to procure a change of clothes for himself, loosening his damp tie and unbuttoning his drenched shirt to toss aside on a chair. When he re-emerges, he's wearing a plain black tank top and some comfortable jeans. He even removed his oxfords, walking around in bare feet now. It's not a long transition from dirty and soaked businessman to casual.

When he does walk pass Lilith on the bed, he flashes her this smile in passing on his way to the bar. Only now does he comment on something she'd said earlier, "Color me surprised." Those words spoken in wry amusement, "The beauty all in red, Carrie style." Grabbing a couple of glasses and a bottle of red wine, he reaches for his phone which he had left and had forgotten on to the kitchen counter, making his way back into the bedroom to seat himself at the edge of his bed. The phone is set down first, then the pair of glasses which are soon filled with the dark red.

Half-turning towards Lilith, handing her one of the glasses of wine, he says, dark eyes alighting on her face, "I am just so glad to have you back."

"I'm glad to be back. I just needed..." Lilith watches Byron move through the bedroom with a small smile she can't quite help for his Carrie-style surprise comment because she knows that's pretty well what it looked like. She's mostly still and quiet, and while the cat does ignore her request of hand initially, eventually, he hops up to at least come bump his face with nudge and rub on one of her feet like she's a scratch post and he has an itch. Her toes wiggle and her foot flexes, attention diverted by the cat as she takes the wine glass in hand. After sniffing faux contempt at being so 'used' by a feline, she takes a long drink to swallow, then a long breath before finishing the sentence, "Adjustment time."

The woman pauses here and looks down into her wine, eyes going a bit distant before she reaches out for one of Byron's hands, "It was a bad one." Her voice is quiet and she probably doesn't need to tell him how bad it was as precedent, he's figured that out a good while ago. But then she goes on to say why it might be twice as bad as any other dark Dream, bringing the man's hand up to her lips to kiss as her lashes briefly drop with closing, "They aren't done. They aren't just feeding. They're feeding with purpose."

It'd probably be nice if she started at the beginning to explain this whole 'feeding' thing. But after she's said it, she opens her eyes and looks at Byron with a dire realization, "I don't want them to take you too." She's not sure how often he actually uses his powers for work or on her when she's unaware or distracted, etc. But she does know that he's had to fling a lot of power around in attack/defense measures lately due to all the strange, and that he's done some readings, and that he's pretty powerful, and...

"I don't want them to take you there. It's like being in the middle of Nothing with dark on all sides. Then the torture boxes, the way I felt when I was making rivers of blood, the trapped feeling..."

Lilith has to take a breath and really compose herself visibly, not even bothering to hide it from Byron, expressionwise. She's not so stubborn as to hide her bid for control over this because just the brief, vague summary sounds pretty dark and dire and dangerous for the future, possibly. Things like this are sometimes bigger than the Dream itself, "I'm sorry. Let me think of how to explain and remember everything right." She sounds as frustrated as she does somewhat overwhelmed, but his prior soothing is keeping her in check and focused on what to say, not what to feel so much.

The hand which Lilith takes is one that Byron had resting on her calf just moments ago, still half turned to face her, though he angles himself, shifting his seated position so that he can better observe her from his comforting distance. When he's told that this Dream was a bad one, many Dreams tend to be. Some worse than others. This one left Lilith practically shaken, something which Byron rarely experiences in a Dream unless he's been injured badly in one. Especially those blows to the head. Though from what he'd seen, Lilith had no such injuries.

"What do you mean feeding with purpose?" He then asks before he shakes his head, "I'm not the one lighting up the sky like a beacon." Those are the types that the Dark Men seem to have more interest in in his mind. "I'm sure I'm safe. Unless they want me to get to you." Unlike Lilith, Byron never had this feeling that anyone or anything was after him growing up. Nothing except his father, but he's dead. "They used Isabella as a battery for whatever their nefarious deeds are and she's just as bright as you are." This cements these thoughts in his mind.

However, this mention of torture box has him curious, though as it seems that she's about to explain everything to him, he feels no need to inquire about it. Instead, he slowly strokes a thumb over Lilith's hand, giving her his own strength. "Take your time." Lilith always seemed to be affected emotionally by things more than Byron does. Byron often has ice in his veins and can easily brush off most things. He doesn't doubt that whatever Lilith experienced was harrowing, as most Dreams are, but he is curious about something, "Were you alone?"

"Easton and Captain de la Vega were there too. We were in this cold, vast, dark void place and the only light was coming from this glow on the rock floor. We couldn't see where to go or do anything, really. Eventually these metal coils or snakes came down from the ceiling and grabbed for us, I don't know what they were. I couldn't break mine, I know that. I got thrown in the first box that lit up out of the dark. Easton got dropped, I think. They never got a hold of the Captain."

Lilith starts from the beginning the best she knows how, though a lot of things are about to get pretty hazy with details and unclear understanding of what was actually transpiring.

"The other two got left alone after They had me in a Box." The woman pauses, looking at her hand on Byron's before taking a long drink, "I don't know if... the two were being forced to watch or what, but I think They were talking. I couldn't pay attention. I got dropped in, things started falling on me out of the dark, I started tearing them apart before they hit the ground, before I even knew what they were." Quiet a moment, Lilith looks off to one side to stare at a distant point across the room, "I knew they were alive when I was ripping them apart, though. I liked that they were alive. Part of me didn't care who they looked like, what they were. I liked the power and violence."

More than usual.
Lilith generally likes the high of power and the feel of letting go.
This time, she craved the gore and blood and power of death.
One of these things is not like the other.

"... I couldn't stop. They kept falling and coming from everywhere. I was tripping over bodies and slipping in so much blood by the time the other two broke in. Easton tackled me out."

Both Easton and Ruiz didn't shine as brightly as many others in town did. Yet they were chosen. Interesting. Byron doesn't say anything for a long, silent moment and simply listens to the tale told. Hearing about these metal claws and then Lilith being dropped into some box which was filled with... who knows what. "You didn't get a good look at what they were filling the box with?" Obviously, she thinks that they were people. She'd mentioned it before, but nothing was clarified here. Just that things were falling on her. Alive things. When she mentioned liking the power and violence, Byron says nothing of this either. He'd heard her say similar things before, having this weird need to destroy things. Ever since she'd brought it up, he has to wonder if those same tendencies were ever in the little girl he used to know before they both drifted apart.

Unlike Lilith, Byron has no urge to use his powers. There's no desire or compulsion to do it. No need to venture into people's minds and take in their emotions. Whenever he uses his powers it's because there's a need to do it. There's something that can be accomplished. He wonders if others with the healer abilities experience the same things that Lilith does. People like August and Erin. Did they have this need to destroy things as well?

"Were They after you then? And you just dragged the Captain and Marshall into this?" It's always a wonder who gets pulled into these Dreams. Byron always expected it to be those closest to you. Most of the Dreams he'd been in were never his own to test that theory. They were always someone else's doing. "Why didn't the Captain or Marshall destroy the claw that was holding you before you were dropped into the box?" There's some annoyance in his tone about that fact, believing they were probably saving themselves first.

They did break her box and got her out though, so he'll nod once to that, though she can seem the tension in his frame. "What exactly did they want with you?"

"I don't know, Byron. I don't think they wanted me so much as... it wanted results?" Lilith shakes her head initially with tiny brush back and forth, indicating some confirmation with vague murmur, "But no. They were... people. Knew some. Didn't know others. I don't know. It was real fast mass carnage. They were in pieces when I started recognizing." The woman drains her wine glass abruptly before holding it out toward the bottle with small lean. Her other hand pulls away to tug the towel from her head, freeing damp tousles and tangles of dark, freshly washed hair to fall around her pale features.

For a moment, Lilith just looks heavy and weighted down before she can continue. Her next words are quiet and contemplative, despite the lacing bother, "Part of me can pretend they're doll parts when they're strewn around like that. I know what's real, eventually. I never forget how a kill feels, though. None of them felt like that."

The cat has curled into a ball at a corner of the bed and is raspy purring a touch while sleeping, which Lilith suddenly finds a little distracting, that or she's looking for something else to focus on visually, "Anyway, I got out, tried to break the frame of my box because it felt like it was trying to call me back. Easton tried to calm me down, and I think... I think they were being lured to their own boxes, there were suddenly two more and I don't know what point they got there."

The only way out is through.

"Taunted. Not just lured, taunted. They want us in those boxes. Maybe we are like batteries. The Captain didn't go in his, but Easton did. His started trying to kill him with stone slabs and bloody explosions. He had to dodge and push to arrange or something, but he found a way to climb them and found a ladder in the darkness above with some conjured light he made. I broke us into his box, which was terribly difficult, but I did it, and... we followed up."

Lilith sounds like that's it despite lacking the full details of what the Captain and Easton were doing the whole time, but honestly, she had her own problems, she wasn't likely to be especially aware of lots going on, considering. Honestly, the way she came back and the way she was shaking in the bathroom, it's impressive to think of her climbing bloody stone slabs, but then, she's always got the survival instinct when it's time.

Nope, that's not it. Lilith stops looking at the cat and looks at Byron again, he can tell from her eyes she doesn't want to say what's coming next for some reason.

"Then I mean, why were you chosen?" Byron asks, having thought about it some, before he shakes h is head, "Nevermind. Who knows how They, the Dark Men work. What they want." He will then state, "They were /not/ people.. When we were in the FCN factory, I saw a copy of myself, looking half-dead missing his eyes as he struggled to keep himself from being shredded in those grinders. That wasn't me. I don't even know what those things are, but it's always easier to think that they aren't real."

He adds nothing to her wanting to justify her actions, having already spoken what he believes to be true regarding individuals that you see in these Dreams. Those not dragged into them. He also says nothing about her mention of never forgetting how a kill feels. There's only been a few 'kills' that he remembers clearly as they were personal. Anything else, whether they deal with Dreams, the Veil or the mundane world, he's never really thought much more of it. Then again, he doesn't feel things the way a healer seems to when they go on the attack. Though out of all of the healers, Byron notices that only Lilith takes things far more personally. Other healers can delve into a human body, treating it just like that. A thing. With no real emotional attachment. Same as with things that they kill, though they must feel what it's like to tear something apart, because Lilith. Then again, everyone handles things in their own way and perhaps the others aren't as affected. Things like this begin to go through his mind as he remains mostly attentive and silent.

"Why did you have mangle through bodies and Marshall only had, what it sounds like, a regular obstacle course? One seems harder than the other to deal with." He doesn't ask about de la Vega.

It's here that he finally takes another long drink from his glass, having refrained from doing so through most of her telling. When her own glass is empty and presented to him, he turns to reach for the bottle and to fill her glass up once again. It's at this point, when he's not even looking at her, that he asks, "What's really troubling you?" Maybe in Byron's mind, having killed monsters (or helped killing them, because his powers aren't as strong as some others), that these were no big deal. Or perhaps he doesn't put too much weight over other people's lives.

"Easton's box had explosions and sprayed blood everywhere. He's a veteran and I know he's not keen on blood."

It's hard to explain what being rained on with blood and body parts feels like, real or not real, it's real when it's happening, and that was extreme gore and carnage to the point where even Lilith is squeamish thinking about it. She's not particularly easily bothered by blood or gore itself in instances, but... her mind's images keep going back there, she shouldn't know what it's like to do that, other spiritualists tend to tactically disable, not work so explosively. It's hard, hard, hard to explain. She doesn't try to anymore. The Dark Men knew how to upset her and they did, exponentially.

But Lilith doesn't know if it was her own feelings or manipulated feelings, the extreme relish and delight in the Tarantino-style kills.

Lilith focuses instead on what she heard before she realized she was on the bathroom floor to relay to Byron, but her tongue suddenly feels thick and she drains yet more of her wine before settling back against the pillows to stare up at the ceiling. In truth, she's tempted to ask if he can just delve into her mind and hear what she was told, how she was told, but she's not sure things actually work that way. Instead, she recites quietly, each word wormed into her brain to stick. When she's finished speaking, she sighs and rims her fingertip around and around the edge of her glass while continuing to stare at the ceiling with passive distraction.

"We will keep feeding."
"We will taste terror, rage, and despair."
"We will keep growing."

"We will see you again."

Byron nods slowly when told of the explosions that Easton had encountered. Now /that/ sounded dangerous. And the blood was difficult to get out of... It reminds him that he should soak their clothing in hydrogen peroxide at some point. It's an odd thing to think about when being told of the horrors of one's Dreams, but that's the reality that he's had to deal with so often once these Dreams are done with him.

Perhaps he's becoming desensitized to the things that Dreams can throw out at him, unless they force a mood upon him through abilities similar to his own. Fear of being hurt or being killed is usually what drives him in those situations. /He/ had to make it out of there in any way possible. The Dream that had affected him the most was-- one that he never talks about, but that he'd experienced with Alexander Clayton.

When she lays back against her pillow once finishing with her wine, he does the say with his own glass, tilting his head back to drain the contents before filling it up with more wine. Though despite the refill, he simply sets it aside before turning back to face her when she continues on. This time with what They had said. At the end of the third statement, he's about to say something, but she adds that last part and here his jaw sets as he thinks those words through.

He then finally speaks up himself, "And we'll be prepared when They try." His gaze lowered to view her fingers touching on her glass, he then wonders aloud, "I wonder if anyone has found a way to ward Them off yet. If there are places where even They will not tread." His posture straightening, he adds in, "Failing that, I guess we need to always be prepared. Not give in to... whatever they want us to feel. Maybe They'll get bored if we act like we're bored." This was what he was going to say earlier but withheld. "Let Them know that they can't scare us. Almost reminds of the movie It."

"Maybe. I was trying to think, in the Dream, it's so bleak and empty and dark. There's nowhere to see or go to. Do you remember walking through the dark with me, though?"

Lilith is thickly quiet for a time after listening to Byron, and it's clear she's bothered, but she's also clearly thinking. When speaking up, she leans to put her glass aside too, finished with the thoughtful fidget of playing her fingertip at the rim. She's talking about the shadowy Dream that happened before they shared bed like this, when they'd sleep (cuddled) platonically during circumstantial or safety insisting sleepovers at her loft.

"I thought about walking into the dark like that, just walking away from them, refusing to play their game. I don't know if it's that simple, to deny them and win, to get out if you're brave enough to face the dark. But..." There's a contemplative pause before the brunette continues, her hands coming up to start raking tangles out of her drying hair with her fingers, "It would be very hard to walk into that much aimless darkness, assuming it was even effective. Because what if it's not?" After wetting her lips and taking another pause, her head shakes small while her fingertips snag and unwork a knot of hair with method, "Anyway, Easton had gotten out and gotten a hold of something to climb and had a light, that way seemed more welcoming."

"I do remember." Byron says with affirmation when she brings up that one Dream they'd had together in what felt like so very long ago. It was like reliving their past and for the most part, the worst things that had ever happened in his life until recently, came from that past. When they were still children.

"It's not that simple. No. But I think that's what needs to be done." Byron says, his gaze following the glass which Lilith sets down next to his. "They'll throw everything that they've got at you, but what have we already experienced? They had us at each other's throats." At a point where he was willing to kill her. "They've pitted us against each other in different ways now too. Werewolf Easton." Letting out an amused scoff, another incident comes to mind that he's reminded of right now, "Have they stopped trying to recruit us? The way they tried to recruit Geoff?" While this may sound like mere curiosity, Byron does have an interest in this actress who had visited Geoff. "I mean, seriously, why Geoff of all people?" It's almost as if he wished he were chosen instead, but Byron is usually quick to be filled with envy. Not being as special as the others.

"So all of you made it out? Good." It's a short question, one that he's only mildly curious about. Turning back to Lilith, he leans over to tuck the comforter around her, before placing a soft kiss at her lips now that she's in rest. "Are you feeling any better? Now that you've got the wine buzz? Did you want to get some rest? I'll spend as long as I can watching over you while you sleep." With what had happened to him previously, being pulled into two separate Dreams in the same day, almost one after the other, he's not foolish to think that the same can't happen with Lilith now.

"I don't know, babe."

Lilith murmurs that as answer to a lot of questions at once, though there is a small nod when he asks if they all got out okay. That one she can assume, at least. But she doesn't know about a lot of other things. Mostly now that it's all over and done with, she knows tonight isn't what she wanted it to be. It makes her heavy and sad for a moment, like she missed some window to make things right. Now she just feels damaged all over again. She remembers the small smile of encouragement she gave herself in the mirror the moment before the whole evening changed and spit her out to feel...

"I don't know."

Lilith just repeats the words again because she doesn't know what she wants now. She knows the wine isn't strong enough, but she's not about to look any weaker and get blitzed until she passes out in front of Byron. He's already going to refuse to sleep, doesn't seem fair, nor is it something he wants to see. She feels unattractive enough on principle after the way he found her. It's not the way things were supposed to be tonight. Maybe she should stop looking forward to things.

The comforter is being pulled around her, Lilith comes back out of her own miserably spiraling head to look at Byron with a small smile after the soft kiss is placed. She tries not to look the way she feels in the wake of all that adrenaline and fear and bloody upset. Instead of looking at him overlong, though, she looks aside at the lamp, "... I don't know if I can close my eyes for long right now. When I do, though, please don't turn off the light."

There was a lot on Byron's plate at the moment. Getting their clothes cleaned before the blood sets in. Making something to eat, though he could probably skip on that. The wine is enough. And lastly, making sure that Lilith was safe. He didn't want to leave her side again in the case that she vanished, but that means putting off everything that he might need to have done. He'll have one of the maids clean up the bathroom some time tomorrow, so they won't have to look at all that blood and be reminded of tonight. Byron makes mental notes and scheduling for all of these things in his mind.

He doesn't withdraw from her just yet, remaining seated at the edge of the bed, facing her. Hearing that she might not be able to sleep just yet, it's understandable. In the somewhat frazzled state that she was in on returning back to reality, he can only assume that the adrenaline high will eventually wear her out when her weariness finally catches up with her. Not that his soothing mental suggestions didn't help to keep her at a soothing calm earlier.

Turning to the lamp when she directs his attention to it, he nods, "I'll leave the light on." It will help him keep awake and attentive while he plays body guard. With his head craned to the side, eyes looking at the smile on her lips while he strokes at her cheek with a gentle hand, he lets her know, "We can just talk, if you like. Until you fall asleep. Anything to take your mind away from the Dream and from Them." Breathing in deeply, he then lets out a heavy sigh of relief. Just seeing her bathed in all of that blood and the stress of wondering if she'd been hurt, then of what she'd been through was taking a toll on him and he's just thankful for this quiet moment away from that whole bloody scene.

Leaning in close, pressing his forehead against hers, he says quietly, "I'll be right here for you. Nothing's going to hurt you." He says this out of conviction, mainly for himself. He wasn't there to protect her. All he could do was try to gather up her pieces and hope to put her back together again.

After grazing her bottom lip with her teeth, Lilith reaches up about Byron's neck and shoulders while he comes to lean in close. Shifting her face with subtle tilt that nudges their noses together, she murmurs her assured reply while positioned so closely, "I know, my love."

Lilith may not have known much moments before, but she speaks like she means it.

One hand rubs at the man's neck nape, the other slides at his back when her lips shift with gliding brush of motion and fluttering breath against Byron's mouth. Lilith might feel a lot of things right now she's trying not to feel, but there's one very important thing she feels to the core-- when Lilith is with Byron, she feels safe, They don't get to take that away. She doesn't care if there's no such thing as safety at all in this whole damned world.

He'll damn well do his best to make it so.