the demon world that he knew was one overwrought with such animosity that, well, it simply wasn’t going to be a very healthy environment for a hedonist - even one willing to fight or kill for his people. it is thankless work, being the one with a discrimination-stirring mark smack at the center of one’s forehead… something about a mind-of-an-angel, though it was all nonsense. he had done all manner of things, to all manner of people, but still the genes of the very mother-wolf they had chosen to steal and copulate with… well, no shit, look at that, it bred true. a point against his father for not being demon enough to out-demon her angel blood -- it was all a load of elk shit… after a hard rain… when it didn’t have enough fiber.

so, when stunted in growth over something as simple as the mark at his forehead and watching males look at his sister with hunger-- and knowing that his father’s explanation of her jaw mark would not help her for long-- here they were. demons still at heart, but free to roam and explore without judgments and dangerous run in’s with their heart-family. it might have been seen as running away to anyone not in the situation, but it has been years since sodom or gomorrah had cared for other’s opinions.

another demon, more bared teeth, though he can lay in a mildly discomfitted repose because he knows she will not take any injury too far. not any further than proper correction or assurance that he would not run. the threat of it however, is what he lives for. the potential that this is some luckily marked wolf who would not adhere to assumptions of demon culture. he was quite sure, but there was no way to be positive, so he flirts with a gentle tightening of his gut at the thought that perhaps he might be wrong.

“Respect your elders, Child. Perhaps I was mistaken about what you are, for any of us would have known better. Or have things changed that much since I left for this failed Crusade? That white mark may be some sort of indicator to that.”

ahah, at last. his elder half-brother could not be far--- or if he was that or dead, at least he knew for sure that this was the rumored destination of those who stole him from the angel berserkers once they were wiped out. “a good child of the demons wouldn’t cowtail without a proper demonstration of why, but i favor my ability to sit on my arse....” and his oil-slick, iridescent eyes seem to grow less flirtatious, “as for knowing better or things changing, that i can assure you is more the truth than any demon would care to admit.” his ears fall back to his handsome head and a small mite of malcontent grows into an ember from the coal of his pupil.

“the female you and yours stole the arch-angel from spawned me and my sister gomorrah by the head of the second faction who came in behind your onslaught. your cleaners’ leader, my father, took a fancy to the idea he was demon enough to breed true and to prove it, he made a deal with her. most pups died angel blood breeding through too potently, but gomorrah and i survived. the persecution was almost the death of us thereafter, despite our honorable holding of the demon way and the many works that proved our worth…”

okay, so more words than he initially believed necessary, but who else would know anything of what he meant? and who else would ask about hell or those things that went on within it? therapy for a white-marked demon was scant at best. “they are inbred and slowly going mad with deformity and cannibalism and civil war. their obsession with marks like mine, like gomorrah’s will be their fall… and i am glad not to be there to see it, for all that i would have died for them if they had let me.” he snorts, looking away from his captor and instead looking at the world he had found for his sister and himself to instead make into a home. “so what has come of your crusade? we heard only that my brother tried to find more of our people to come and fill rank… was the angel “blight” so bad here? or was my half-brother just eager to send for the best for baphomet’s cause?”