Askaree Bint Bahar

Had she been bereft the knowledge of what form his beastie half took, Askaree might have offhandedly canoodled with the notion that he was some sort of feline if for no other reason than the old adage of curiosity killing the cat. He certainly was a curious little bloke, hardly demure in the manner in which he chose to interrogate her as if she might fan him with the tattered pages of her life's story. She, too, gleaned some insidious pleasure from plucking at the myriad strings of another person's makeup; however, she much prefered to allow the individual to answer questions frequently left unasked. They were two sides of the same grubby coin it would seem.

"Maybe one day I will show you," she purred, somewhat softer than the barbed lilting of before and yet no less enigmatic. Never would she be such a hapless dullard as to let slip the cards from her proverbial sleeve so easily. And, it was her unspoken hope, neither would he. It is a subject that is dropped abruptly in favor of his aforementioned attempts to rile what remained of the Nightshade Pack; what might be gained from rattling the rusted bars of that particular cage was never a query to tickle the fancies of her mind. They were, it would seem, of the silent understanding that to watch a small community crumble in upon itself was all the payoff one could ever need. Some people found their greatest pleasures while dancing in the ashes of their own maelstrom. It was a more exhilarating high than any chemical fix could have ever offered. "Ah, I see. So you figure they're due for another kiss of your branding iron, yes?"

An amusing thought, indeed, but one wiped haphazardly from their conversation by his further attempts to plunge into her personal circumstance with all of the subtly of a sledgehammer to the fucking face. His comment at her rebuttal though draws that reptilian smile back unto her lips. "So I've been told," she muses, having heard the affirmation from more than just a small handful of individuals: men and women alike. Even as a child she had been... prickly as her father had so delicately put it. A razor-tongued hellion even in the womb, she suspected. And for this, as most things, Askaree made no attempts to apolgize.

"From what I've heard the lights are not all on in that soft little pumpkin he calls a head, so I don't think you'd experience any huge challenge in luring him away. Though it's a little concerning that he managed to take something from you in the first place, just saying." It is a smooth joust, delivered in the potently calm cadence in which everything else had been. Really though, how the hell could the idiot boy manage to steal something away from someone who clearly thought very highly of their own supposed intelligence? A query worth musing over but... ahhh, they had (finally) arrived at what was surely the question of the hour. This, perhaps, she would concede to him. A soft clicking of her tongue and an equally as subtle shaking of her head was all that Askaree offered for a few lingering seconds. "No no, nothing quite so... pedestrian. Something with far more teeth," she cooed, vaguely aware of his intended intrusion, becoming quickly atuned to the caress of his intent upon the coiled matter of her brain. Well, if he insisted on puttering about in there she may as well give him a peek. Askaree opened her mind to him, only just, so that he might share in the memory she would choose for him. A memory of mammoth scaled beasts, brutish growls, an amalgamtion of blood and water careening done the slopes of curved sabers... a memory of "home", a world of flesh and teeth.

"See," she states simply. "Far more teeth."