It was a nice change of pace upon the rooftop of Syn, basking in the moon's silvery luminance. She barely felt the cold at all, tonight being one of the milder nights in comparison to her cool flesh. Not a single cloud blemished that night sky tonight. How she almost missed those days when light pollution hardly hindered that view. The city's lights seem to all but devour the stars with a greediness, only a few faint dots could be seen peppering the blue-black sky. That rich dark back drop that matches the vampire's long cascading locks devotedly framing her bodice and face like a painting. She drew a final swig of blood in the crystal wine glass which hangs precariously from her loose fingertips. The warmth of that rapidly growing lynx felt close to divine, that rumbling purr as she idly runs her fingers through that soft kitten fur. How well that feline took to Darcy's training, of course she had noticed.

How this very moment seems almost serene, a faux tranquility forged by Darcy himself. How she was skeptical of it from the start, all that careful planning, every last minute detail made in order to keep her... in mood a docile contentment. However, when was that maleficent creature was ever truly docile. Certainly not during her long life as a vampire. How fleetingly infrequent those moments of true peaceful contentment truly were. How could it with a chaotic mind like hers? That dominating hellish queen seemed content enough to bide her time, to play along with this little rouse like a sadistic feline toying with a mouse until it died.

Just how long he planned to stall for she wondered. How long would they allow that loose conversation between them carry on, idle, a concealment of the true issue. How many times did he need to call for their glasses to be refilled with hot, off the 'tap' blood? It was when he shifts, his body peeling away from the railing that he was ready to talk, or so it seemed. How close she was to simply commanding him to come out with it already, but watching him squirm, seemed to be mildly entertaining in that moment. It must have been something big enough to cause such, caution in the man. Something was amiss.. For a breath of a moment there is an anticipatory silence that could be cut with a knife. That compliment easily shattered it and how she could hardly hide that amusement. While she never turned down that admiration, it was clear there was so much more going on. The question was what. "We both know you didn't bring me up here to compliment my radiant complexion, despite the truth in that statement." How those words almost seem How that knowing smile seems to curl upon her lips, her eyes watching him move with that predatory stalking until he takes up that seat opposing hers. "Go on, free that burden off your chest. I will try not to bite.." She tapped an idle finger on that glass, taking another sip, savouring that last drop of blood. She leans forward to place that long step glass upon that table.

"Hmm.." It would seem her Darcy has been keeping things from her, how naughty. Leaving out pertinent details from that briefing has her mood beginning to shift the beginnings of internal disdain dripping into that hollow putrid wasteland. It starts like a nagging scratch that slowly builds, like storm clouds collecting for a looming storm. Something unreadable flashes within her pale apathetic eyes which slowly drag from Darcy to the leather-bound book that he slides toward her respectfully like offering to a vengeful goddess. My oh my, what did he have there? At first, she hardly moves, not even an eyelash. How eerily still Risque was, like a roman statue where those blank eyes seem to follow you wherever you went.

With languid grace she leans forward, eyes never once leaving him. She reaches for that book then, placing that book along her now bent knee, like a makeshift desk. Not a stitch of emotion met her face, still looking just as comfortable and poised as before. It was bold thing to shift that mood, that seemingly good mood that she was in. How quickly her skies seem to blacken into inky storm clouds.

Yet, still the remarkable creature remains outwardly unflappable, unphased by this sudden shift to business, her sensual form sinking further into the embracing plush of the lounge. Could this not have been done in her office? How she hardly enjoyed working up here, her one sanctuary away from the constant commotion down below. This private oasis attached her very room, that she rarely allowed anyone within those concrete walls, with exception to a very selective chosen few to enter. Darcy being one of them. He truly was a rare creature indeed, defying all odds with his chosen mistress. Her fingers dance and toy along the rim of that supple leather of that ledger, the scent of cigar smoke still seemed to cling to it, the last lingering scent of Tybalt no less. Opening the book while there was a break in that undoubtedly carefully laid out speech he prepared. Her hungry eyes seem to linger over the hand-written scrawl containing numbers, everything that went in and out of Haunt. She remains composed, contained as she quickly saw the common theme under those highlighted lines. The large sums of money changing hands from Blue Moon to Haunt were obviously staring at her brazenly in the face. Those intentions were so sinfully clear. Traitorous swine that they were. They would rally against her to bring her down? Her lip twitched as she attempted to process his words and the blatant facts.

How that rage leapt with the ferocity of a wild cat, that rage stirring within her chest, spreading with lightning abruptness. Yet still, she maintains that almost casual, sprawled out beneath the caress off moonlight like a cat drinking in that silver glow. How it seems to worship her ethereal flesh, illuminating that striking unreadable face as her mind begins to taste and breakdown those very thoughts. The only shift betraying his displeasure was the way her grip tightens upon that book as he spoke, everything matched everything Darcy had said to the number. Four long months to rally forces was lengthy enough to become a problem. Her eyes narrowed as that displeasure only grows, drawing her attention toward that blood-saturated contract. The crimson had all but dried but she could easily read the font through that reddish brown that caused that paper to ripple, embellished only by dried face. How that only fed that rage, that brazen agreement intended to obtain what was hers, that number only made her jaw clench that her own teeth seemed to groan in protest. How she caressed that paper almost tenderly with a sweeping hand, relishing in the feel of that grime and dried flesh that lingered there. All before bringing that paper to her nose, inhaling deeply, scenting that gore as if she could determine who that flesh belong to. All before Risque's freshly manicured nail absently picked off the largest of the dried chunks of meaty cheek that adorned that paper before idly flicking it off. A near informal absentminded gesture, like she removed a spec of lint, discarding the unseemly thing. That once lax posture began to shift as that recognition settled upon her, her decent temperament entirely obliterated. Like Darcy had singled handedly took a hammer to a mirror. She snapped that book shut with abrupt finality. Someone was getting to big for their breaches. Four months was too long, they could be ready for a full on attack any night now. Any moment they could swarm Syn like flies and they would be forced to defend their position, outmanned and unprepared.

How she nearly gleaned at the idea of that challenged, enjoying the idea of breaking her enemies at the knee, to make them feel true hopeless defeat before she snuffed them from existence where they stood. It was one thing to fight her, this empire she had created. It was another to go after what was hers. To blatantly poach Darcy, to brazenly turn him against her when he was hers and hers alone, well that was a fatal error. How that toxic suspicion began to churn within her calculating mind, why had he not come to her sooner. Had he been compromised? "You didn't stop to think that I would want to know that they propositioned you and Harlequin, hm?" That voice seemed tense, even as it reaches for him like caressing tendrils. How that slimy little insect of a girl would probably jump at the chance to turn on Risque. Darcy had better keep that leash so very short, that little strumpet knew too much to simply run to the enemy. But she was of little concern now, not when that hyperawareness seemed focused on Darcy himself. She held up that contract like it was diseased between pinched fingertips. That offer seemed good... too good. Too good for him not to consider it at least a fraction of a moment.

How that possessiveness near had her leaping from that chair to pummel him to the ground below, pinning him below her form. Yet she does not, her pale icy gaze fell to the chain around his neck. Her manicured talons seem to dig into that paper, crumpling it all at once. Too many variables to consider. How a snarl escapes her when he began speaking, if he hadn't noticed that something was terrible amiss, he would now as a deep frown marring her once smooth moonlit features.

She listened to his words... every last one, carefully and she could hardly help but wonder if they had gotten to him. If this was a carefully laid out plan to infiltrate her from the inside. After all, Darcy was the highest in the ranks not including herself. Truly there was no way of knowing for certain. Not without that full control that she simply did not have. How did she know that this was all just a carefully planned rouse? He wasn't wrong when he spoke of Tybalt being a moron. That faux cowboy was always a little on the daft side, driven by his blinded greed that he could never see beyond. Her tongue darts out, dragging along her blood painted lower lip in consideration.

It went without saying that if they had been planning this for so long. Too long without catching wind of a vampire army so large. How didn't they know sooner? How very apparent it was that they need to move rapidly, fast and brutal. They needed to make a statement and it needed to scream across the continent. For those high rolling vampires to actually band together like this must have meant they scented weakness.

He wanted to invite Cade here? Was he drunk? "What would stop him from bringing his complete forces here then?" Her eyes narrowed sharply. "What would stop them from steam rolling us the moment we let in that arrogant 'faire le pitre' step a foot near here?" This was not the first uprising against her, not would she suspect it would be the last. Her emotions seemed to shift again and yet she was as coiled as a viper, those selfish tendencies lashing wickedly within her with a vehement vigor.

"Would you like that my silver-tongued Darcy?" She suddenly questions, not yet elaborating. Her dangerous mind growing into a fit of paranoid rage then. How submissively his eyes turn from her then, bold and yet so careful.

She drags her fingers through that velvet soft fur of Princess in a bid to keep her control locked but loaded. He wanted her to trust him? It was true, never once did he falter. Yet there was always a first time for everything even if he had never once did he fail her when it truly mattered. That man was the most loyal, even out of those she had complete control over. Even she could not deny the way he looked at her with such peculiar adoration. What good was adoration when it could so easily be swayed, money, such a leading motivator for most. Perhaps even Darcy too was susceptible. Did not everyone have a price?

How aware she is of his eyes upon her as if expecting her mood to snap and shift. She seems to casually rise with inhuman ease, the thin, sheer material of her dress, fell back in place as she rose, the material smoothing and calm, so unlike the tumultuous waters that now surround them. She places that book easily upon that small table, next to her empty blood-stained wineglass. The click of her heels sliced through the tension filled stillness as she drew closer to him, that movement was sinuous and altogether feline.

She did not stop until she came up behind him, bending her form slight down, drawing her crimson lips to his left ear, her lips nearly brushing against those piercings. Risque's hand sliding across his shoulder, not ceasing until her slender hand lies flat against his chest, poised right above his heart.

Her fingertips became talons then so suddenly, pressing into the shirt and into his muscular flesh.

"Tell me, would you like it if they cut out my heart?"

How her breath trickles out to dance upon his skin, but there is something perilous about that wicked temptress even though she is practically poured on him like melted candle wax.

"Would you like it they end me where I stand, so you can be free of this, my sweet?" That other hand snaps up, entangling with that chain, tugging on it near fiercely. How perfectly sadistic the games she plays. She pulls it ever tighter to cause the chair to lean back, lifting his feet off the ground. She leans it against he leg so she could peer down at him, tipping her head slightly as if contemplating too many impossible things.

"You want me to trust you won't turn on me when I have no way to ensure you haven't been compromised. My darling... if you wanted me to trust you, why do you bite your tongue?" She loosens that hold on that chain just so he could free those words from his cursed lips. How the entirety of that balance of that chair relied wholly upon her then, willing to let it fall if his answer was hardly sufficient. It would seem he had some explaining to do.

Risque

just face the moon and put your death mask on