Just as she fell asleep after him, she awoke before him, heart rate spiking once more when she realized where she was. They were chest to chest practically, her lips breathing hot puffs of air onto his neck, hair spilling everywhere and smelling of the soap he washed it with the previous night. His hand was cupped entirely over her buttocks with the nightgown he picked for her in between.

She decided her best move here was to pretend to sleep, unsure of how he might react if she awoke him. A prior Master enjoyed his naps so much he backhanded her for accidentally waking him.

Betelgeuse hadn't slept next to a living woman since he himself was alive. Still, he knew she was awake as soon as her heart sped up and her body went stiff under his hand. With a soft grunt, he rolled onto his back and stretched, letting his grip on her go.

"Mornin' Kitten." He scratched idly at his chest just over the large sigil spell inked above his sternum and cracked an eyelid, glancing over at the girl. "What's wrong? Yer heart sounds like it's trying t'escape yer chest."

A cigarette was suddenly between his lips, the tip glowing cheerfully. Taking a deep drag, he allowed the smoke to drift lazily towards the ceiling.

"If ya wanted up ya just needed t'say so."

As soon as they were apart, she huddled under the blanket on the opposite side of the mattress, gaze as wide and cautious on him as always.

"Dead like their sleep," was all she said in a way of explanation for herself, still wary he had an ill morning temperament he was just concealing.

"They're all afraid of you."

I'm not. Went unspoken. She feared what he might do, sure, but he hadn't done anything.

"... and you can go up there."

Would it be too bold of her to request he return her to her living family? Were they even still alive? She had been down here so long…

"Who don't like their sleep?"

Another long drag on the cigarette was pulled, and this time the smoke took the shape of a small bird that flitted around before dissipating. Betelgeuse sat up with a small grumble and moved so he was sitting with his feet on the floor. This put his back on display, from the large round tattoos to the mess of thick rope-like scars at the center. They pulled in odd ways as he stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders.

"Who's 'they', babe?" He stole a glance over his shoulder. "Sometimes I can go up there but then there are these rules…"

Pushing to his feet, a robe materialized around his shoulders. He shrugged it into place and took his time adjusting the sleeves, tugging the left down enough that it covered the tattooed head of the great snake that appeared to be crawling from his upper bicep to his wrist.

"Besides, when I'm up top it's fer work."

"Who's 'they', babe?"

"My old Masters."

This was less of a threat so much as succinct fact, though there was no lack of threatening undertone in her timbre.

"I knew your name already. Before they were whispering it… at the auction."

Betelgeuse. To say it thrice, call him to your side and waste his precious time, was a suicide mission. The girl had on more than one occasion been tempted to call it herself just to see but for some reason never had.

"Why are they afraid of you?" Her nose wrinkled with distaste as she took him in head to toes in that soft-looking plaid robe, hairy beer gut poking out the front. His tattoos and scars had not gone beyond her notice.

"You're not scary."

"Everybody down here knows my name, Babe." His sinister smile was more of a baring of teeth than anything. "I can be very, very scary when I wanna be."

A choking roll of his hot electric energy filled the room, eyes flashing with green light. Then, just as quickly as it was there it was all gone. He just stood there looking rumpled in his robe.

"Let's go get ya some breakfast, n'after we can take a walk. I'll show ya what I did t'the slavers' market."

He turned to leave then paused, regarding her from the doorway.

"We talked last night about what happens when you don't follow the rules." Clearing his throat, he flicked away the spent cigarette butt. "Well, when ya can be a good girl, I ain't opposed to rewardin' ya."

Well… it wasn't as though she could exorcise him now, while he was awake and watching her every move. She was hungry. She could play along, eat another meal. Hesitantly, watching him the whole way, she let him guide her to the kitchen where a full breakfast of sausage, bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs was already sitting hot and steaming. When had he had the time?

The dishes in the sink were hot. It was down here cooking by itself while they slept in. That was more impressive than anything she had seen from prior dead. Though certainly not all that flashy, it denoted skill and precision. She was being so agreeable she was allowed her own seat this time, though she did avoid eyesight and ignore most of his attempts at conversation over breakfast.

Slow panic built inside her the closer they came to "walk" time. Why would he want to bring her back to the slavers' auction if not to sell her back? It wouldn't be the first time one of her Masters developed buyer's remorse and sold her back at a depreciated value, leading to yet another beating from the slavers. She was just dragging her fork across the plate now, not really eating anything.

"Do we have to go on a walk?"

What if he wanted her to wear one of those stupid leashes? Her cheeks were heating up with humiliation again.

After the third or fourth attempt to get her to talk, Betelgeuse gave up. She was eating. She wasn't screaming or fighting. That was enough.

He pulled a copy of his preferred newspaper from nowhere and sat in the mostly comfortable silence reading. After sorting through the obituaries and tapping the ones who looked like they could use his services, sending them cards, he came across an article discussing the destruction of the slavers' market.

That made him smile. Of course, the article didn't name him as the one who destroyed it but, they never used his name. Even in print.

"Do we have to go on a walk?"

"Hmmmm…? We don't hav'ta… but I thought you wanted t'see why everyone's scared o' me." He sounded uninterested in the conversation and kept reading.

With a sigh, he put the paper down, eyeing her while he sipped from his coffee.

"Why don't'cha wanna go?"

She was silent for a long time, mulling over her words. When it looked like he wasn't going to get a response at all, again‒ she spoke.

"... I don't want to go back there…"

She didn't want to be with him either, but faced with the very real possibility of being sold back, life there suddenly didn't look all that terrible. Did she still want to die the way she croaked to him in her fever dreams? She was too proud to grovel, to beg to stay, to promise to be good and do everything he said from then out.

Never.

She would die first. Maybe that's why she wanted to die in the first place. Subservience was what was expected of her. Betelgeuse just seemed to want… company. Just in case he was getting any ridiculous ideas that she didn't hate him, she made sure to shoot a seething glare his way across the table.

"... and I don't want to wear a stupid leash."

"I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with the remodel I did."

The grin he gave her was full of mischief, eyes glittering with green light.

"Leash or not Dollface, yer nearly as infamous as I am…" His voice shifted from a guttural baritone to high and squeaky. "... the girl exorcist? She's been passed through so many households, no one can tame her…"

Giving an amused snort, he pulled a lit cigarette from the air.

"M' sure we can come up with a compromise, yeah? Maybe somethin' that looks more like jewelry than a leash, huh? How'zat sound?"

Aiming an arched brow at the girl, his gaze combed over her, stopping just above her modestly covered cleavage.

"Yer old collar looked uncomfortable. If ya don't like this one just lemme know n' I can fix it, too…"

Cigarette smoke poured from his nostrils and as it dissipated he was once again dressed in the striped suit.

There were certain rules for mortals in the afterlife. There were rules for everything but the rules for mortals were especially strict. She was not to sit in chairs in public or eat or drink from the same cup or plate that a spirit would. She wasn't ever to be seen unaccompanied in public, and unleashed was as good as. She was not to speak unless spoken to or look any of her "betters" in the eye unless being addressed. They didn't tend to enjoy her gaze even then.

When he commented on her new collar, she couldn't help but let her hand drift up to touch it, feel out the beetle-shaped clasp hanging delicately in front. She couldn't break out of it if she tried, but it was light‒ and pretty, she hated to admit‒ and didn't give her a headache or make her neck hurt like the last one did.

"... It's better," she conceded. Not a thank you. Definitely not a thank you.

He didn't sound like he wanted to return her. He sounded like he was proud of her, and wanted to show her off. That was weird, and strangely didn't piss her off as much as it did with a previous Master who tried the same bullshit.

"I guess…" her fork drew a trail through scrambled eggs again, scrambling them further, "... I can wear a stupid leash… but if you leave it on too long I'm going to make a scene."

That was the only warning he would get. The first time her request to have it removed and go home was ignored, he was going to have to have a temper tantrum on his hands the likes of which he had never seen.

"Deal."

Slapping the table, all the dishes disappeared aside from her place setting as she was still picking at it.

"When yer done eatin, go ahead n' get yerself dressed. Then, we'll go."

He picked the paper back up and flipped to another section, a victorious grin hidden behind the edge of the page. If that was how he could get her to agree and talk to him, he was more than willing. He liked making deals. His whole job revolved around making deals.

He was building the beginnings of her leash in his head; long delicate links, done in the same silver to match the collar. With a final thought, it appeared coiled on the table.

Again, the girl dressed in black, in a loose gown that laced up the back for ease of access, a long hem that flowed around her ankles, and sleeves that hung off her shoulders. She did not dress for appearances but everything he provided for her to wear fit so well and draped so becomingly that her beauty shone through effortlessly.

With effortless grace, she held her skirt like a lady when she descended the stairs to meet him for their outing, lips pursed as she held her long braid to the side to let him attach the silver chain that made up her leash.

"... so dumb…" she couldn't help but grumble under her breath, cheeks pinking in her fury that she was debasing herself so, allowing him to leash her like a fucking animal. This had better be worth her while.

He was stunned when she bravely stepped right up to him in one of the dresses he brought back for her. When she held her long braid out of the way he had to give himself a shake before clipping the loose chain to her collar.

"Yeah, but at least they don't require the face brands anymore, right? The leashes're pretty stupid though, ya already got a collar on."

He caught her hand, pooling the end of the leash in her palm.

"Hold onta that, would ya?" With a wink, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in tight against him, mindful of her stitches.

There came that electric crackle of energy again. It danced over their skin and suddenly they were standing where the gates of the slavers market used to stand. Before them stretched a vast smoking crater. In the distance, there was evidence of attempts to start rebuilding but those efforts, too, had collapsed.

He draped an arm across her shoulders, high enough not to bother her wounds. Still, he didn't reach for the leash.

"So, Babe? Not what ya were expectin'?"

At the sensation of cool metal in her hand, the loop that made up the handle to her unfairly pretty leash to match her unfairly pretty collar, she blinked up at him, confused. He wasn't going to hold it? A thick arm pulled her close around the waist, more gently than she was expecting, and then they were gone, moving through the aether until the ground beneath her feet turned from smooth hardwood to uneven rubble.

Bright orange light assaulted her vision at first, making her too dizzy to gather herself and see the bits of rock and debris that caked the familiar terrain. This couldn't be the same place where that terrible stage stood, where she slept cold and hungry in frozen iron cages for all those years until it was time for a hosing and a selling, if she wasn't whipped too badly for some misbehavior or another.

The leash was still in her hand. He was grinning, taking in his handiwork proudly while waiting for her response. No. No, this was not at all what she was expecting.

"It's gone."

She was barely audible, already big eyes enlarged to the size of dinner plates so as to take it all in. She didn't want to miss a single obliterated plank, a single broken iron chain strewn across the red rock. He couldn't just… do that, could he? Wouldn't they come for him? He couldn't be that strong. Her knuckles were turning white around the leash, still in her hand, and she tucked it away inside the pocket of the dress, as if afraid he might want it back.

"You…? You didn't do this…"

She had misunderstood somewhere. Obviously. This was not what it looked like. He was playing some kind of trick on her.

"Course I did. Ghost with the Most… Granted, I lost m'temper…"

He could feel her body shaking and pulled her in closer, making sure that if she collapsed he would have her.

"This is why everyone is scared, Babe. Didn't even hav'ta try t'do all this."

They stood there for a other moment, his hand rubbing soothing circles along her shoulder while allowing her to take it all in for as long as she liked.

"Why don't we hit up the shops, yeah?" Giving playful a little squeeze, he pulled her closer. "M'sure there's some shit ya need or want that I forgot."

That wave of energy pulled at them again when she gave nonverbal consent, and in place of the deserted wasteland that was the destroyed slave market, they now stood at the edge of a busy shopping center. Betelgeuse moved away from holding her to stand rather rigidly next to her, hands shoved in his pockets and demeanor outwardly aggressive.

They were in public now. He still wasn't taking the leash back from her. The girl looked back at him nervously, hulking over her shoulder in an intimidating fashion, but was quick to recognize it was all a show. The grimace and sneers weren't for her‒ but they were supposed to look like they were. She couldn't ever recall seeing another slave unleashed in public… but she wasn't unleashed.

Immediately, she understood the implicit contract. As long as she stayed close and within his sights, he wasn't going to walk her around like a dumb animal. Fair enough. What a power move.

The other spirits were staring on curiously, and the mortal took sadistic satisfaction in holding her head high as she led him from store to store, grabbing whatever she wanted. If he was going to offer, she would take full advantage. The way the other walking dead regarded her was retribution enough.

She never disobeyed the rules and neither did they. Betelgeuse gave her his wallet to pay, so every time she approached the counter, eyes down, piling up her purchases, she waited to be addressed. For the sake of their jobs and paychecks, these dead motherfuckers were then forced to ask, with Betelgeuse a fair distance from the counter, "Will that be card or cash?"

This is when the mortal struck, looking each and every one of them dead in the eye as she slid his card across the counter to buy trinkets and candies and oddities‒ whatever she wanted‒ saying, "Card, please."

Just as polite as could be. They hated her. In the end, she had several new outfits‒ all black‒, a bag of candy, a drawing pad with pencils and charcoal, and a flower she once knew as a "Venus Fly Trap" but was called something different here in the afterlife, violet leaves gathering at the base of its hairy stem.

Once it clicked with her that he wasn't going to drag her around by the leash, she took off flitting from store to store. Following closely behind, he gave her room enough to shop and allowed her to pay. It amused him to no end how upset she was making store clerks and passersby on the streets.

As she paid for a plant at the current shop, he checked his watches. The day was getting late and they should probably be heading home. He laid a hand on her shoulder, leaning down to speak in her ear.

"I got another stop fer us n' then we should get home." The hand on her shoulder directed her from the current shop, leading her down the way. He took her bags of goodies, though she chose to keep hold of the plant and so he looped her free arm through his as they continued strolling.

When he started talking again, his tone was much harsher than his words.

"Ya been real good t'day, Girlie, so yer gonna go choose a reward, n'then we'll get ya some lunch."

The stop he had in mind was a fine jewelry store. The girl had never been to a place like this, not even in the living realm. Once, when she was much younger, she recalled going into a bright pink store with cheap jewelry with the same name as a girl in school who was mean to her to get her ears pierced.

She tugged at the piercing now unconsciously while she meandered about, examining all the shiny bits carefully. One hand on her leash in her pocket and the other tugging gently on her earlobe, she looked every bit her age, some sort of twisted mirror image of a father taking his daughter to buy a piece of jewelry on her birthday.

She didn't even remember the date, it had been so long since she celebrated. She remembered it being something like this. Finally, she settled on a simple, comparatively cheap pair of earrings. They were silver dangling pendants on a dainty chain matching her leash and collar, an opal crescent moon the cradle for a delicately carved cat.

"I like these‒"

"My, my…"

She choked on her words, a stranger's grip shooting out seemingly from nowhere to steal the lead to her leash and yank her in close to examine her features deliberately. In an instant, the mortal recognized him. Anyone in the Neitherworld would. He was their Prince.

"So it's true," the aristocrat drawled, lips quirked with amusement, "he's tamed you."