This girl is a gun, before you know it, it's done
And you'll be wishing that you crossed your fingers

hile Marceline is not particularly pleased with Asmodeus' mellow response to her invitation, it is enough to satiate her - for now. Pulling him from the Desert, however temporarily, was not likely to be a task easily accomplished. She is aware she will never be able to command his full attention while miles of sea separate them, but it is pleasant nonetheless to imagine holding such sway over him.

Their conversation shifts to more banal topics, but Asmodeus' flattery continues even amidst the most mundane of small talk. A hint of a smile tugs at her features, the liquid amber of her eyes glimmering as she tilts her nose to the sky in a jesting display of pomposity. "It is one of my many talents, yes." Beneath her words and faux snobbery, there is a genuine appreciation for his compliment - she had done her best to cultivate a reputation for herself on the islands. It was gratifying to know she had done something right. "You've also a knack for leading, if your continued success here in the Desert is anything to go by. I'll be interested to see how true kingship suits you." Her own commendation comes with a flash of a charming smile.

Eventually she cannot ignore the urge to know more of the Hills and what state it is in. She keeps her tone casual as she inquires about her son, but any hint of nonchalance is immediately erased when Asmodeus speaks of him. Marceline's ears fold against her neck, the memory of Evrain sneering down at her from on high flashing in her mind's eye. When she speaks her tone has taken on a bitter edge, rosy lips curling as if the words taste foul upon her tongue. "You mean the legacy he stole from me. I did not build the Hills herd for him. He was not even my first choice for heir. But he certainly was quick to name himself my successor in spite of those facts." He'd snatched it as eagerly as if it were a gift freely given. as if he were entitled to it.

She considers what Evrain could possibly have told Asmodeus of the tumultuous history he shared with his mother. No doubt it he had probably spun some preposterous tale that painted him as the downtrodden underdog, desperate to wriggle from under the thumb of his oppressor and eager to prove his superiority. Whatever information Asmodeus had gleaned from his encounters with Evrain, it seemed to hold little sway over his opinion of her. Evrain never had been as adept at twisting the truth in his favor.

"Someday I'll tell you more about how he came to be in his position. I find it's rarely worth discussing." A wry smile twisted its way onto her face, gaze darting out over the oasis and towards the border of the Badlands. Time had mostly healed the wounds that her body had sustained that fateful day, but her spirit would be forever bruised. There was nothing like being stabbed in the back by one's own family member. still, there was a minuscule part of her, insignificant and easily ignored, that was rather proud of evrain. he had done nothing she wouldn't have done herself, but to be on the receiving end of such treachery... it chafed against the most prideful parts of her.

'I don't suppose you have any tools I might use to... persuade him?' his query draws her attention back towards him. A low, thoughtful hum drifts from between Marceline's pursed lips. Ignoring the hummingbird pace of her heart, the Peak mare leans in just as he had done moments ago, their shoulders nearly brushing. "I might know a thing or two," her tone carries an imitated air of indifference, but the fervent hunger burning in her eyes, bright as the Salem sun, betrays the mask of nonchalance that has settled across her features. "But such information rarely comes free of cost." Few moments in Marceline's life have been so ripe with opportunity. Asmodeus' mind is the perfect pasture in which to sow seeds of her temptation, the promise of reaping all she has ever desired from him too great to resist.

But after so many years apart, can she truly say that she knows Evrain still? In his youth, she had known him to be stubborn, sly, rebellious, with a sense of pride that could rival her own. He held a peculiar soft spot for his younger siblings and a strong desire to keep his family safe. It seemed unlikely that her headstrong son would ever change his ways, but stranger things had surely happened.

It would be easy to tell Asmodeus this, to divulge all she knows about her traitorous son and air every exploitable attribute he possessed. to see him fall as she once had was no small desire. He had eagerly taken all he could from her, and it was time he was repaid in kind - whether by her hand or Asmodeus' made no difference to the Peak mare, so long as she could bear witness.

On the other hand... her intimate knowledge of Evrain and his flaws could prove useful, a valuable bargaining chip with which to gain an upper hand. Ultimately, the determining factor was the lengths to which Asmodeus would go to secure his title. Was his resolve to rule salem so great that he would do anything - promise anything - to see his vision manifest?

It is oh so tempting to reach out and brush her lips invitingly along the muscled curve of his neck, to let the warmth of her breath ghost across his ear as she speaks, to use her touch in an attempt to sway him towards her own desires as she had been wont to do in the past. Yet Marceline refrains from offering her affection so openly as she had mere minutes ago on the shore; now more than ever she is determined to gain the upper hand through wit, not wantonness.

She does lean slightly closer once again in a mirror of his earlier action, close enough that she need only murmur, in a low and sultry tone, when she asks, "How badly do you want to make him bow?"