Carovo glared at the devil as best he could, though his eyes wanted to blink uncontrollably now. "I d-don't believe it." He managed. "D-de-devils are natural l-liars." Indeed, they were. They often immediately seduced a human with their silken voices full of compliments and exaggerated promises, then twisting them into disgusting lies that made the human doubt themselves, rely on the devil entirely. And when their soul was gone... Well, they had no ambition. He'd seen some soulless. They were almost doubled over in a now-natural sadness that never ebbed, but at least they had no morals. They made for the best criminals since they never felt bad for what they did.

Father? No. No, Max had no devilish looks. He didn't have the dark hair devils did, didn't have the amber-red eyes, the brand-like touch. And damn it, he would know! He'd still be feeling burnt now. But despite the shaking in his hands, Carovo gritted his teeth hard and clenched his fists. He'd force the shaking to stop. He'd kill this devil, just like he'd killed the other. "Get BACK!" His voice exploded through the road, scaring anyone that happened to be passing and whipping a nearby horse into galloping away with its hansom cab rattling along behind it. He'd killed a devil once before after entering the withdrawal that came with lack of prisoner's honey. He could do it again. If Max got hurt...

Ginger!? Carovo growled audibly, sounding more like a Marsh-Wolf than a human. Devil bastard! He hated them so much, their very existence, the way they regarded soul-carrying humans with hungry, glowing eyes. As if they didn’t have enough souls being sent to them every day! He took a few awkward steps back when dragged with Max, and it was as if a sudden weight crashed down on him like a collapsing scaffold. It was him? He left the message? He was after Max? Or did he do something worse? Far, far worse? Like the devil that tricked Carovo?

“What have you done?” He demanded quietly. A hand immediately went to Max, protectively grasping one of his arms. His other hand found his pocket. What did you do to him?” Was it as bad---worse?---than what happened to Carovo?

Carovo couldn’t quite believe it, but when a devil told the truth... it sent a cold chill down his spine. And now he shivered. The words held too much of a weight not to be true. Max was a... devil? Half-devil? He’d never heard of such a thing. Or if he had, he recalled that such children were kept in Hell, or in the Brass Embassy, and never heard from or seen by the public eye. Max’s mother had to have kept it quiet... Or had been a good liar, just like the devil. But Max didn’t even know it! He didn’t know he had devil blood? A devil stopped aging at a certain point, how did he not know? Was he really in his twenties, or had he begun to lose track, or never really bother keeping up with birthdays? Carovo didn’t have much of an interlude to think about it.

His shivering hand darted into a pocket, grabbing a warm bit of metal and slinging it out. A switchblade wasn’t overly rare to find, but one made of Nevercold brass certainly was. It was hard to fashion such a blade out of the brass when it never cooled, such as the name suggested, and tempering the metal was nearly impossible without someone that had the right set of skills. But the blade never dulled and needed sharpening, and it cut through devil skin so easily. He cut in front of him and Max, putting an arm out and holding the knife in a way that would communicate absolute fear---but he didn’t shake out of fear.

“O-ov-ver my d-de-ad bo-ody.” He managed. It was impossible, of course---Carovo would have to lose his soul or endure a massive amount of damage before he would even give in. And losing one’s soul was a tricky thing. This devil didn’t seem to have the right tool for the job.

Carovo gritted his teeth in a menacing scowl as the devil thought twice, and the words he uttered had a sense of... desperation? Maybe the devil knew fighting with an immortal was useless. Fighting with someone who couldn't die was a death sentence in itself, and if that immortal wanted someone to stay dead... Well, they did have plenty of time to make absolute sure of it. Carovo had made more than sure his own devil would never, ever be able to find a way to come back. No, that bastard would never be able to come back.

He pocketed the Nevercold switchblade and turned to Max. A half-devil. Who could have possibly guess that? He looked so human---maybe a little more than human, but not a devil. Not a devil... "Stop." He waved, talking over Max. "I... d-don't care." He stepped forward, feeling as if he were losing the muscle in his legs. "I do-on't c-care about w-wh-hat he said. T-to me y-you... a-a-ren't anyth-thing but..." He paused, breathing in and speaking slowly, very slowly and clearly, though gritted teeth: "To me. You aren't... anything but human. I don't care... What any bastard devil says. Just..." He faltered. "J-just d-do-on't go. I do-don't wa-a-ant so-omthing t-to happen... h-happen t-to you." He bit his lip, feeling weak. Soon enough he'd lapse into a full withdrawal, he'd be useless... And if he didn't ignore it, he'd leave Max alone, at the risk of being killed by a devil...

He grasped the young man's hands. "P-p-please... Come w-with me... I ca-can't stand t-t-to leave... l-leave y-you..." He could hardly hold onto Max's hands with his own trembling ones.

Carovo couldn't stop shaking now. Not even when he really, physically tried. It was hard enough to follow Max back up the stairs, keeping close to him at the same time. Even if he couldn't control his shaking, he could at least control his knife if the devil came back suddenly and tried anything while their guard was relatively relaxed. But they got inside safely, and Carovo locked the door after a moment of fiddling with the lock. It was if the floor were shaking, but he'd gone through this before, and methodically took calculated steps to his room, collecting his silver spoon from a bedside table drawer and the pot, and bringing it to the couch. He managed to steady his hand just enough to hold it relatively still for Max, as he handed over the spoon. "Ta-ake a... a spoonful a-and s-si-it down. Yo-you'll f-fall aslee-eep qui-ickly." Quickly was an understatement. The moment the honey was swallowed one felt drowsy, and they had better to find a couch or chair to sit upon. "I-I'll meet y-you there. O-on the S-S-Surface."

Carovo quickly took his own spoonful of honey without cleaning the spoon---there was hardly much need anyway. Before he gave into the sleep, he set the honey and spoon on the table in front of him and collapsed by Max, sliding to the side as he fell asleep, and faded, and felt that rush again. This time he could smell salt water, sand, a cool breeze cutting the warmth of the sun, the sky, and a sweet scent. Peach trees, somewhere, mingling with grass, probably up the beach. When he opened his eyes, Carovo turned over and looked around, shaking the fog from his head.

Normally someone else would be here. Someone else with sapphire eyes and copper hair. But this time it was different. This time it was a someone with long blonde hair, pale eyes, light skin that was so common in Fallen London. And under the sun he looked... stunning, really. Carovo stood, finding himself far steadier, and looked about a little more. Up on that hill, that grassy hill with the huge peach tree, he and Dean would lie in the grass and hold onto each other and never let go, as if nothing had ever changed... But somehow Carovo wasn't even thinking about him, not right now. He met Max. "This is the surface." He said over the rush of the surf. "Is it as beautiful as you imagined?"

He was so glad to see Max actually, really happy, a kind of happy he'd not seen yet in their somewhat brief time together. He had shaken off Max's state of undress, though---he didn't often appear in his dreams clothed, and really, it was all up to the dreamer's discretion. He laughed, watching Max at the water's edge, just out of reach of the lapping waves. He approached, kicking his shoes off and brushing sand absently from his shirt. "This is all real, Max." He said, stepping into the water and shivering at the cool water. "All of this is a mile above our city." But it was so hard to get to. So hard, if one was meant to be down here.

He lost his balance in the water as it scooped sand from under his feet, and Carovo fell back, gasping at the rush of cool water flooding into his clothes. He quickly shed them, preserving what little dryness the cloth had left and throwing them to the sand a ways away. "Do you really like it?" He asked. This was his home, after all. Or, it used to be. If he could only show Max all of it... all of it in reality...