"So, this is your home?" Raven asked as she and Damian passed through the door to his apartment. Budapest was proving to be a much different city than Paris, not that she had known her home city well. "It's different."
"It's shit," Damian said, resentment thick in his voice. She could feel the hatred he had for his living conditions. The fact it was overriding his carnal feelings for her only impressed upon her how much he despised his current situation. "You can go ahead and say it."
She spun in a slow circle, hovering half a foot above the floor, taking in the spartan studio apartment. It was meticulously maintained, everything in its place, the walls decorated with various melee weapons of various quality, most of which seemed fairly cheap. Anything good, she decided, was probably hidden. Where though, she couldn't guess.
"I've spent my life in a catacomb under an abandoned church in Paris," she said as she came to a stop facing him. Damian blinked at her, several expressions passing over his strong features.
"Huh," he said. "Well, that's something different."
"As I said," Raven replied. She turned and floated over to one of the windows and looked down at the city from the forth story. The ancient streets were bustling with activity as people started their day, bright sunlight chasing away the dark. It hurt her eyes and she drew her crimson hood up to help shield herself from the light.
"Not a fan of the sun?" Damian asked. The lust was back in his voice, but there was something cunning underlying his voice. Trying to find her weaknesses.
"It's fine," she replied, because it was. "I'm just not used to it. Living underground, you understand."
"They didn't let you out in the sun?" Damian asked. "What kinda crazy cult was this?"
"One dedicated to Trigon," Raven replied. She ignored his confused grunt. There would be time to explain later, first she needed to secure his loyalty to her cause. That mean proving her loyalty to his. She had made her first steps, settling his debt with Gizmo and funding the purchase of some other equipment he'd claimed he needed.
It had been an interesting experience, being surrounded and inundated by the lust of the three teen boys. Raven knew she was beautiful, and many of the male and some female cult members had lusted after her, for years in a few cases, but their lust was tempered by worship, devotion, and fear. Touching her had been forbidden. Now that she knew the fate of her mother, she understood why none had dared break that taboo. Only Simon had risked it, and only then because she had chosen him with the Pater's permission. Never had it gone to the naked and nearly uncontrolled desire her three new companions had felt.
She didn't mind it, really. The absence of her cult, her family, was clawing at her. The lack of worship and devotion that she had lived with since her first memory had left her feeling empty. She'd take what devotion she could, even if it was slightly tainted by base animal instinct rather than faith.
Absently, she ran her fingers under the thong of her leotard, adjusting it in the privacy of her cloak. After a lifetime spent naked under a robe, having something clinging so tightly to her skin was unique and slightly uncomfortable. Still, she found herself liking the sensation in a way she'd never experienced. The only way to understand it was to keep feeling it. Still, a different material might be in order. Latex didn't breath and as much as she liked how it clung, she was starting to sweat in places after several days in it.
"Do you have a bath?" she asked, looking around. The apartment was a single long room, with the door one end, and a small semi-balcony on the other end.
"The door by the entrance," Damian said. He'd set down his gear on a workbench along the wall. His eyes watched her with a predatory intensity that sent a flush through her.
"Thank you," she said, floating back towards the front door. Sure enough, there was a door she'd written off as a coat closet. Opening it up revealed a small bathroom with a tiny shower.
"Do you mind if I bathe?" she called out.
"Help yourself," Damian replied.
Gently, she shut the door and hung her cloak on a hook. Next went her boots, a pair that came up to her ankles and had three inch heels. Her toes wiggled in relief once they were free and she hissed in slight pain. After a lifetime spent going barefoot, wearing sexy footwear like this was turning out to be harder than she'd thought it would be. Finally, she stripped out of the leotard, the zipper running from the back of her neck down to the small of her back.
Carefully, she set the garment aside. The inside was slick with her sweat and she knew she'd need to clean it. How, she wasn't entirely certain. Perhaps Damian would know. In the meantime, she could at least wipe it down and let it dry. Some exploration found his towels, so she took the smallest one she could find and carefully wiped down the the interior till she was satisfied.
Then it was her turn and she turned to the shower. She was familiar with them in principle, but had rarely used one. Her own baths had always been taken in a large claw footed tub. Still, the handles for the faucet looked the same. Twisting one got her cold water, the other hot, both resulting in a rather weak spray from the shower head above. Still, after five days without, she was willing to sacrifice comfort for necessity.
Something told her that was going to be her life from now on.
His soap was harsh and smelled of nothing, but thanks to her demonic heritage her skin was more than up to the task of handling it without damage. She took her time, wanting to be extra clean, enduring the water turning to ice with stoic silence, even as her skin tightened and hardened with the cold.
There were perks to being only partially human, after all.
Finished, she turned off the water and looked at the cheap towels she'd discovered. It would take far too many of them to dry off, at least for use by a guest. Best she only use one to preserve her modesty while she waited on her leotard to finish airing out.
"Mea voluntas manifesta," she said aloud. Black power surrounded her body and in an instant the water that remained was flung from her body to the shower floor. It splashed against her toes where they floated six inches above the tiles, but otherwise she was as dry as she'd started. Still, she couldn't help but miss the luxurious baths she'd left behind.
'You made your choice, Raven,' she told herself firmly. 'Focus on your new life and your mission, not on what you've left behind.'
The towel didn't cover much more than her leotard. What it hid of her hips and ass, it left bare of her shoulders and part of her cleavage. Still, she'd never exactly been one for modesty. While everyone had dressed in robes in the cult, nudity and sex had never been frowned upon. Carnal lust was a natural part of the human condition, and while they had not allowed her to participate, sex and sex rites had been a part of her life since the start. Literally.
Coming out of the bathroom, she found a plate of baked pastries on the small table, along with a pitcher of water and pair of glasses. Damian had a sour look on his face and was pouring what looked like milk down his sink. His eyes locked on to her for a long moment, devouring her carnally, before he forced himself back to his task.
"Milk went sour," he said flatly. "I'm afraid all I have left to drink is water."
"That is fine," she said smoothly as she took a seat at the table and took one of the pastries. It was light and fluffy, reminding her of the ones Mater would make. Some sort of fruit she didn't recognize had been turned into a jelly in the center. "I've never had milk."
Damian shot her a look, that was part suspicion, part shock.
"Why not?" he asked. "Some sort of crazy cult thing?"
"No," Raven said. She paused, chewing her pastry thoughtfully. "Maybe? I'm not sure what you would call crazy cult things. All I've ever known was living with my Fa-with the cult."
The young man came over and sat across from her, trying valiantly not to stare at her breasts. Angrily, he stuffed a pastry into his mouth and washed it down with water. Then, resolutely, he twisted in his seat to look out the window.
"You said you had a job for me," he said tightly. "What is it?"
"To help me destroy the cult of Trigon," she said resolutely. "They must be stopped before they summon him to this world."
"Right, you said that," Damian said, skeptically. "Look, if they're real, and that much of a threat, why not go the cops or the superheroes? Why come to me?"
"Because," Raven said. "The cops will never find them. The cult has members all through society, not just enclaves like what I grew up in. Plus, neither they nor the superheroes would be willing to kill them. So long as one member lives, they will have the knowledge and desire to worship him and he will use that to bring himself to this world."
"You, on the other hand, have no issue killing," Raven said. "You were raised from birth to lead the League of Shadows, an organization capable of finding and eliminating the Cult of Trigon. That's why my bargain with you is to restore you to the position you were stripped of and my price is the death of the cult."
Damian spared her a sour glance. His fingers drummed on the table in an unsteady, angry beat. Part of her found it soothing.
"Okay," he said, "and I suppose you have some plan for that?"
"Yes," Raven said. "You."
Damian boggled at her.
"I am not a leader," Raven said. It wasn't true, but Mater had given her lessons about boys and how to manipulate them for your own ends. Always let them think they were smarter, stronger, and in charge. "You were born to lead. You know what needs to be done, and how. All you lack is the strength to do it. With my power, and the power of others we gather to your banner, you will have that strength."
"You're fucking crazy," Damian said, looking away. "If it was that easy-"
"If it was that easy, you would have done it already?" Raven finished his sentence. "Hardly. I never said it would be easy, or fast. It will likely take us a year, maybe two, though it must be done by then, because in three Trigon will be able to come to earth and we must either have stopped his cult by then or be ready to drive him back ourselves. Never the less, you have it within you to do it, with my help."
The young man angrily got to his feet and started pacing back and forth in front of the window, his hands clasped behind him. Raven could feel the anger, dispair, fury, and frustration that filled him like a tempest in a teapot, threatening to explode. He had lost everything. His family. His future. Everything. He had lived for years with the burning desire to reclaim it all, while faced with being utterly powerless to do so. Part of him had begun to accept on a subconscious level that he would never get back what was stolen.
Now he was confronted with a strange woman who made him feel things he'd never felt before, telling him that he could have it all again. That the powerlessness that had overwhelmed him didn't have to be his fate. The thought filled him with fear, because it battled that resignation, but there was more to it. People often held back not because they feared failing, but because they feared success. Damian was the grandson of Ras al Ghul. Should he succeed his grandfather, what then? What might he become, what would his life be like, following the footsteps of the great demon.
Raven stood up and floated over to him. They were of a height when she stood on her feet, but like this she was almost a head taller. His face slammed into her boobs as he turned around, not expecting her there. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
Then she drank in his fears and his furies until all that remained was faith in her promise and lust for her body.