you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

Vhalla wasn't entirely sure what she felt as she stumbles into Lazarus's arms. Perhaps she was a touch thankful that he was warm and the did not feel of death, perhaps there was an inkling of a thought that Lazarus could save her from this monster. Yet, the moment that thought began in the back of her mind, she immediately squashed it. There was perhaps one person in this city that could stand a chance against Ivan and that person was not Lazarus. It was a childish dream and hope to think that Ivan could be destroyed right now, perhaps one day, but the day wasn't the day. Especially since the undead man makes his escape, tossing that dead smile in their direction, Vhalla clutching at Lazarus's jacket, her forehead resting against his chest as she attempts to calm that terror that threatens to engulf her. She's unaware of the conversation between Ivan and Lazarus, though she's very aware when the man finally leaves, her body trembling as Lazarus's warm hands hold her.

She's unable to keep the shaking of her voice under control as she asks as to why he was here, a safe topic. His immediate response is not able to draw any sort of emotion from Vhalla, let alone a reply. Instead, she tightens her grip on his jacket, refusing to look at him, at least for a little while. Even that growl that so emits from his mouth can't manage to get a rise out of Vhalla, to snap at him that she could take care of herself and didn't need some protective asshole to watch her. But, the assassin couldn't, she hardly cared that she was shivering in his arms. She would worry about it later, for now, she needed to get that fear of hers under control. When he finally does answer her, she's not terribly surprised at his response. Truly, she hadn't expected to see the man for a good while, she had avoided Ellie entirely, not able to get her emotions under enough control to see the young woman. And there was still an inkling of guilt roiling through her stomach at their last encounter.

How strange it was. She had flinched away from Lazarus and practically set fire to her warehouse, and now, here she was in that same man's arms, hardly caring his strong hands are gently touching her arms. "Of course, she was," Vhalla murmurs into his jacket, shaking her head slightly. "I don't want Ellie here, ever," she states quietly, her voice still entirely strained. When she finally pulls away, she's thankful that Lazarus drops his arms almost immediately, as if he knew the utter panic that would take her if she had been forced to remain in an embrace. Those icy blue eyes travel to the couch, realizing how badly she wanted to burn the damn thing, though, she had a distinct feeling if she unleashed her fire now, there would be no way to control it, she would possibly destroy the entire building. Even with the bad memories that accompanied certain parts of her apartment, she still rather enjoyed this place, mostly untouched by haunting memories.

When Vhalla finally turns back to Lazarus, telling him he could leave and that she was fine, what she did not expect was the man to tell her he was going to get booze. There was no fire left, she couldn't even manage to deny him, refuse him, and part of her didn't want to. She could use the booze, they both could get rip roaring drunk, they needed it. Even if she wanted to refuse him, he hardly gives her a chance as he makes his exit quickly, leaving her standing alone in the middle of that living room. The assassin stands there for awhile, her arms wrapped around herself, the silence pressing in on her. She doesn't know what forces her to snap out of it, but she does after several minutes, unfolding her arms and trudging towards the bedroom. Refusing to look at the bed, she quickly kicks her boots off and trips out of her suit, even going as far to reach up and take that band out of her hair, her white locks flowing in waves down to her waist. Digging through her drawers, she retrieves a pair of those tight fitting black boxer shorts and a white shirt, slipping them both on. Honestly, Lazarus had already seen most of her skin, she wasn't about to start being modest, though, the white shirt does cover half of her rump.

As she finishes dressing, the sound of the apartment door opens, her entire body stiffening as she pokes her head out the door, only to see Lazarus carrying a rather large brown bag. Scolding herself for that fear that had begun to rise once more, she steps out of the room and pads barefoot down the hallway, her long pale legs strutting with a bit more ease. Pulling a chair out, she slides into it easily, crossing one leg over the other, arms folding over her chest hiding the fact that she wasn't even wearing a bra. Though, the woman hardly cared. Her icy blue eyes fart up to his green eyes, noting the way his typical wolffish etched into his face as he takes a deep drink of that cherry colored alcohol. Arching a brow, she attempts to smile back, to bring that roguish grin to her lips, yet it ended up coming out looking like a grimace. Sighing heavily, she unfolds her arms and reached for that bottle of whiskey, rather enjoying the fact that Lazarus didn't go searching through cupboards for glasses. She much preferred this way of getting wasted.

Unscrewing the lid, she leans back into the chair, her eyes never leaving Lazarus as she takes several large drinks, enjoying the way it burned as it so coursed down her throat. "It's been a few months since I had a drinking partner," she murmurs, casually dangling the bottle between her slender fingers as she kicks out the chair next to her, her hand lazily gesturing for him to sit if he wanted to. She hardly cared if he did or not, she was tired and emotionally strained, the last thing she needed was another argument with the Dark Hunter. "Shall we play a game? Let's see who can get drunk first," she states suddenly, ready to wash away the feel of Ivan's touch, to erase the memories of his voice, his scent. Even the thought of him has her hand tightening around the bottle, her eyes flashing angrily. There it was, that fire that had been put out briefly. Inhaling, she forces that little she devil grin to her lips before tilting her head back and taking several more swigs from the bottle.

That warmth so pools in the pit of her stomach, spreading through her bloodstream, making her head fuzzy. How she loved this, how she wished she could drink every day away without a care in the world. "I should warn you, I can out drink most people," Vhalla states, wiggling her fingers at him with arched brows. "Tell me something, anything. Something you've never told anyone," she sighs in an almost demanding tone but not quite as she continues to drink from the bottle, almost half of it gone already. "Give me that, I want to try it," she says suddenly, leaning forward and shoving the whiskey in Lazarus's hands before hazardously snatching his bottle, her body swaying dangerously on the edge of the chair.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered