Ruby's laughter had been an honest one at his comment about enemies never being in short supply. Though she laughed for but a second, a fleeting thing, it rattled her entire body before she composed her with a hmm of agreement. He was right, after all, but his comment had just reminded her too much of Avery in a way. Somehow, she’d almost forgotten that he was, indeed, her son and yet, when he had said that, it had made it all the funnier to her that she hadn’t really thought about it. Of course he had been born with that kind of fight and fire in his blood even if he seemed preoccupied by other, more trivial matters. Apollyon made her feel further the fool when he showed his respect for working hard rather than simply being handed something. From laughing to a somber moment of consideration for the boy...She’d not expected either when they had first found one another in the rain and mud.

She’d hit a nerve, and she was proud of herself for having done so. He spoke sternly, and she met his eyes with the intense yellow of hers, probing and searching. "I trust your assessment, Apollyon,” she said, finally, after a moment. She spoke sternly, like he had, but she spoke honestly. She dipped her head slightly, the smallest bow one could offer but a bow of respect nonetheless. In her mind, he’d earned it.

"You have the eyes of an Angel,” she commented as she rose from her bow, but she did not speak with a mocking tone. Instead, she tilted her head inquisitively and continued to stare into the dark depths of his face and eyes. Ruby had never asked about Arkane but she’d seen him enough times to make her own assessment. Arkane was, without a doubt, of Angel blood, but Ruby could not say just how closely he associated with it. Rather, she knew he wore a colour perceived as...questionable (at best) by his own kin: over his back lay a cloak of shadowy black. In that sense, Apollyon had abandoned the white of his Angel blood, and she wondered if that gave him a sense of security, a sense of being ‘other’ compared to his grandmother, Chernobyl.

"But perhaps you are not bound to their creed solely because of it,” she finished after a moment, a smile playing on her lips. "My own father is not a Demon by blood. Yet, I feel connected only to Iromar, to here, and to them.” She motioned once more to the boneyard. It was something she had never outwardly said – that she was not wholly of Demon blood – and yet it felt almost relieving to have said it.

She straightened then and pivoted to face Apollyon completely. Then, she bowed once more. "Apollyon, Little Princeling that you are,” she began, holding back her smirk, "consider me a personal ally, if you will. I will answer what questions you may have, listen and advise when if you see fit and seek out those wolves and information you may desire.” She paused, peering up at him. "That is how I will help. How does that sound, hm?” Formality had melted away, and she raised a brow at him expectantly, ready for him to likely return some overdue attitude back to her.