Hellfire ✞ a.f.i.

6: evening gown

   You know I've been taking some time
And I've been keeping to myself
I had my eyes up on the prize
Ain't watching anybody else

Strip That Down; Liam Payne

Ashton tilts his head, exposing his neck currently coated in a thin layer of shaving cream. As he drags the cool metal razor over his shadowing stubble, he ever so slightly shivers. The scruffy bearded look isn't what he's going for, especially not when he must make lasting impressions upon his prize.

Once he has finished shaving, he reaches across his sink and grabs a warm towel to gently wipe the remaining shaving cream from his face. His still-wet ebony hair droops across his face in small swirls, his eyes hazel with tranquility.

After spritzing some Ralph Lauren Polo Blue Eau de Parfum behind his ears and across his collarbones and wrists, he glances at his chosen outfit for the afternoon, draped across the side of the porcelain bathtub. He has the feeling that tonight could call for a more sophisticated suit, so the dress shirt and slacks seem appropriate for the day's task: swing by Fremont St. Fortunes once more to visit the lovely lady with the futuristic gaze.

Ashton drops the towel that was tied around his waist and quickly gets himself dressed and presentable. The material of the dress shirt seems to mimic silk and it fits across his shoulders snug. The buttons strategically left just open enough to expose the lengthy chain Ashton has adorned his neck with. The color of the slacks and the shirt mirror the darkness of his hair. Ashton is not one for light colors.

He grabs a few thick rings from the countertop and slides them onto his middle, ring fingers, and thumbs. He switches the bland silver hoops for a heavy black hoop in one ear and a sizable crucifix stud in the other. He glides a comb through his hair so that it folds neatly into a dovetail. With a swift flick of the collar of his shirt, Ashton gives his reflection a satisfied nod.

As hot as a branding iron, fiery pain suddenly shoots across Ashton's lower back, causing him to hiss in response. The roots of his hair start to tinge the slightest shade of crimson. Why the fuck would Luke be trying to contact him right now?

Angrily, Ashton snatches his cell phone from the counter, dialing the Altior with tangible irritation.

"What the fuck was that for, asshole?" Ashton demands when the receiving end of the call finally clicks, not giving the younger demon a chance to defend himself, "I can tell by how you burned me that this isn't a fucking emergency. You're getting on my nerves."

"I just wanted to let you know that the target—"

"Eden." Ashton says matter-of-factly, lifting his shirt and turning his back to the mirror just slightly to make sure his moon shaped insignia is fading back into invisibility.