The restaurant's name was the Gaslamp, and it was a rather charming, elegant place. He'd been there to meet two junior business partners. After an invigorating discussion, they'd left and he sat, idly sipping wine over the remains of a good meal, watching humanity mill around him.
He noticed her approach and smiled, raising his glass to her as she slipped into the seat across from him, all curves and dark hair and sparkling eyes; he felt a resonance touch him and slide away and so, smile not wavering, he resonated back.
And he knew:
Diamante, though everyone calls her Diana these days. She feels superiority over everyone here, none of whom she knows or know her. She's a Lilim from the Guildhall, Shal-Mari, but the place she's working- not her current home, he notes -is the Bordello. She feels more of a connection to her apartment here on Earth. Her hobbies are sex and acting - emphasis on the acting; she has an image of herself on a wooden stage, her head thrown back, immersed in being someone else. Her connections run deep; love and awe for 'mom'- no name, though he can easily provide one -fear of and submission to someone called 'Sparagmos', need and submission for a 'Karinon', and- surprisingly -layers of friendships woven underneath his skin; idle for some, deep for others - particularly so for someone named 'Ell' - and so many more relationships spinning in a web around her. They rule her life far far more than she can admit, though the admission itself lurks just under her surface.
Images also played out between them, her background - or at least the 'important' bits - weaving ghostly images to his eyes alone, the Symphony humming rags and snatches of her past.
Diamante, handcuffed in an uncomfortable position, an active Geas shimmering on her, bucking and screaming and crying and terribly aroused is one, and Diamante, a coffee in hand, sitting back and chatting with a Habbalah whose body is dappled like leaves; amusement clear on Diamante's face is another, and Diamante with a man on top of her (Many men, many women, many demons, the Symphony provides), and Diamante, in a movie theatre that's all garish lights and dancing images, but she ignores it in favour of laughing and throwing popcorn at a giggling female Impudite and finally Diamante, kneeling and looking up at someone, awe in her features.
The Symphony gave him the mortar between the bricks of a person's life; this is what held Diamante together - it faded in moments, as Diamante - Diana - leaned forward and said, "Hey, I couldn't help but notice that you were sitting alone. I was sitting alone too, and figured we might as well spend some time being alone together."
She winked, and he smiled at her. "I'd welcome the company," he said. "Can I buy a drink for a lovely lady?"
Diana's smile widened. "Sounds great. I'll have what you're having."
He laughed; she couldn't know precisely how rare what he was drinking was. "Certainly." He gestured a waiter over, ordered, and when the wine arrived he did a quick mental switch to the far better brand that he was drinking, then poured.
"Ooo," she murmured, lips forming a perfectly round o as she looked up from having sipped. "That's good."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, smiling at her. "What brings you to town, miss?"
Diana waved a hand airily as she sipped. "Oh, this and that. Wandering where my feet take me, viewing the world. You?"
"Business," he said, which was true enough.
"Ooo. Are you a businessman, then, Mr...?"
His smile grew a bit wry for a moment. "Call me Marc," he said. "And yes, I am."
"Mmm. Mark," she said, and he could hear from the way she said it that she hadn't caught on. "I like that name. Hard and strong. How long are you going to be in town for?"
It's just as well, he decided as he answered her questions and returned questions of his own. Just as well. This one had a chance to get free; there was something beautiful in her, those strong bonds of friendship that border on love, and something terribly sad at the despair he felt along the other relationships. She had a chance, but these things need to be worked up to.
So he smiled and flirted and they talked for a long time, to the point that the waiters were hovering around, but they didn't matter right then, because that plastic smile had faded and her eyes were bright; she waved her hands as she spoke and considered her answers before speaking; she spoke her mind and laughed and listened, and there was something alive about her that hadn't been there when they'd started.
And when he used his Elohite resonance on her as she gave one of the waiters - clearing his throat for the umpteenth time - a playful grin, he found that the dry, practiced lust she'd sat down at his table for had changed into interest, admiration, even affection.
"Shall we go someplace more private to continue this discussion, Diana?" he asked, smiling at her, and he watched an almost-flush cross her cheeks as she nodded back.
"Sure," she said, a casual grin creeping back onto her face. "My place?"
"All right," he said, and smiled, because that casual grin was a front for something honest.
He drove them across town - she'd taken the public transit, she told him, so it was all right - and when they got in the door, it turned out they weren't going to continue a conversation; at least not with words. He wasn't surprised, though pleased, her lips crushed to his, their bodies tangling together as soon as the door shut behind them, his hands sliding along her sides while her arms came up to wrap around him, holding tight.
"This way, this way," she managed, gasping for air as he finally broke their kiss to transfer his mouth to her throat. "The bed's this way, Mark."
He let her lead him there, and her clothing came off easily enough; his as well, and she was laughing as he tumbled them both to the bed. They froze like that for a moment, her on her back, arms out, eyes sparkling; him supporting herself on his arms over her, and he saw in memory men, women, demons, and she broke that moment by laughing again, leaning up to kiss him lewdly.
Marc kissed back, of course, but gently, concentrating on teasing sweetly, thinking about everything he'd discovered that evening that he liked about her as they kissed. She froze, muscles tight, as affection passed between their lips, then melted into it, arms coming up to pull him down against her, mmmming quietly into the kiss, kissing back the only way she knew how but not turning that away, letting him kiss her with love.
He moved slowly, dropping a kiss to a nipple, his hands stroking along her breasts and belly and thighs, though she was more demanding, reaching out to stroke his cock, tugging impatiently, as if his gentleness didn't matter.
By the time he entered her - faster than he'd liked to have taken this; she was too demanding - she was already making little noises in her throat, body shivering under his touches, hips rocking up to meet a slower pace than she was used to. She was incoherant, oooing and mmming and making tiny noises that bubbled up inside her. At one point, he thought he heard his name and he tangled his fingers in her hair, kissing her, letting her breath sob into his mouth.
When he pulled back, there was something raw in her eyes, naked, and though she would have - should have, as a Lilim serving Lust - she didn't even try to resonate but closed her eyes and moved, and moved, and moved.
She came, a helpless noise emerging from her lips to drown against where she'd pressed them to Marc's shoulder, a little stuttered sound that could have been pain or tears or need or just pleasure.
He let his own eyes closed and turned his face into her hair, breathing her in, as his hips jerked forward and he came.
They stayed in that position for a while, and when he pulled out they were both silent, her simply repositioning herself to curl in his arms. He wrapped them around her, tight, tucking her under his chin, and they lay cuddled like that for hours, until the sun came up and he knew that to be fair to her, he had to say it now.
"Diamante," he murmured, and she froze, then jerked back, eyes opening wide, staring into his.
He felt the off-note of her resonance and let it through, let him see what he'd always Needed, always would Need, to be what he is: Trade.
Her eyes went wider for a long moment and her mouth opened, silent, before a very, very quiet word came out: "Marc."
She said it right; she understood now.
"Diamante," he said again, but got no further as she skittered sideways, falling out of the bed, grovelling naked on the floor.
"Please," she said, voice faint, "please don't kill me, Dread Lord. Please don't kill me. Please. Please."
"Di...Diamante," he said, pushing the covers back and leaning over. "Diana. Please. That's not necessary. I'm not here to hurt you."
She shrank away from his movement, terror in her eyes as she glanced up before returning them downward as she grovelled, face in the carpet. "Please. Please, Dread Lord. Whatever you want from me, it's yours, don't kill me!"
Marc opened his mouth to speak, but she was panicked, now, babbling.
"Please. Please. Please."
"It's all right," he soothed, reaching out and stroking her shoulders, though she cringed from the touch. "It's all right, Diana. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to kill you. I just want to help you."
This didn't seem to reassure her as she froze; he didn't need to use any resonance to know that her heart was sinking. After a moment, she managed to say, "A Geas. In exchange for my freedom. Year. You can have a year of my life, just please, let me go, please, please."
"I want you safe," he said, and that didn't reassure her, either; "I don't want a Geas on you."
That was worse, he realized even as he said it; she'd put him in a bind. If he took the Geas, he was as bad as the demons she was used to exploiting her; if he didn't, she was in uncharted waters and would only get more terrified, thinking up worse things that could happen, unable to predict what he wanted from her, unable to trust him either way.
"A year Geas," she said, voice breaking through the thickness of tears, her forehead buried in the carpet. "This house, the Geas, anything else you want, anything, as long as you let me walk away. That's all I want. All I want is to walk away. Please. Don't tell anyone about this. Nobody can know. I don't want to die!"
He was stuck either way. She needed something to trust. He looked down at her naked, cringing form, and realized that he'd failed. "I only wanted to help you," he said, and she sobbed harder. He closed his eyes. "All right. A year of your life, and you walk away. I won't harm you. I won't harm any of your belongings. I won't try to stop you. And I won't tell anyone."
Marc felt the Geas form and she was sobbing harder, afraid to rise even with the Geas in place, so he stood and touched her, pulling her upright, and her eyes were wide. She searched his face, seeing the sadness that he couldn't keep from the surface (didn't want to hide, he'd admit later) and he knew she didn't understand it.
He turned, opened her closet, handed her a robe. "Here," he said, and she held it to her uncertainly. Pained, he turned away to dress and heard the slam of the door as she ran.
The bed creaked under his weight as he sank down, sitting, holding his shirt in one hand. There was so much there, he thought, so much he could have done for her, so much she Needed done, so much potential for her, so much potential for them, and he'd broken it, he'd not taken care, he didn't know if he'd ruined it but he feared he might have, and hated not knowing, and cried, his face buried in his shirt, because nobody would look from him there, nobody would find a weakness in him, an Archangel, because this was her place and she was gone; he'd sent her away, he'd been just another man on top of her, hurting.
Perhaps she'd be back, he told himself, feeling the emptiness around him.
He managed to calm himself, breathing carefully, and dressed.
Some day, he thought. Maybe she wouldn't be broken by then. Maybe she'd still have that brightness in her eyes, however far back he and Hell would push it.
Marc closed his eyes and cradled the Geas to him. There was a connection between them, he told himself. Even something as unpleasant as this was a connection, and Diamante's Geases mattered to her.
They mattered.
So it would have to be all right, he thought. As long as it still matters, it might be put right.
Next time.
And he opened his eyes and pushed the grief away from himself; it would bear interest, he knew, build up and come back to haunt him until he was able to pay her back for what he'd done to her.
But, he reminded himself, with luck, it was also a long term investment.
It had to be enough.