Fae, now that was one surprise she had not anticipated. She was sure she would have smelled it upon her lover, but it would seem someone had been very careful in meticulously planning this entire charade. Her birthday was no small event each year, it was to no one's surprise how she enjoyed those lavish gifts bestowed upon her or the lavish decorations strewn across the club and her home in her honour. It was perhaps one of the few things she enjoyed about holidays, the transformation of Syn to fit her appetites. How very blasé it was for things to remain entirely ordinary when she was a unique creature far from it. It would seem Darcy's efforts to conceal such surprises from her was nothing short of impressive. How astute she often was with the slightest of inaccuracies. Not a soul to speak of entirely free from the fire of her wrath.
Fortunately, her attention was focused upon that impressive torture device that by no mistake, she was sure matched her décor close to perfection. Her sweeping pale gaze searches for any of what she would perceive as glaring imperfections. That craftmanship impressive, those ideas just how she could use this creation already took flight in her dangerous mind. Oh, the implements she could create for this very device. After all, she had every intention of keeping it the centre focal point for when you first walked into that veritable dungeon. A slight but fleeting rumble of satisfaction stirred within her throat, dainty and almost akin to a purr. How easy it could have been mistaken for a contemplative sound. Then and only then she saw it fit to try it. What was the point of a gift that you could not try? How she would have enjoyed the look of her lover strapped to that device or even Tetradore himself, coaxing those cries from his lips would surely be an intoxicating sound, one that apparently Darcy did not concur. What a pity, although not an entire loss, that runner up prize seemed to ensnare her completely. How could one say no to a fae. It was like he knew it would be nothing short of irresistible. His scent peppered the air after drawing closer to the chamber he was locked within, that iron cage specifically used to contain the magical creature. Tetradore's own regrettable perfume drenched scent seemed to even overpower the fae then... it was almost irritating enough to banish him. But to do that would have been kindness and admit her own wrongness. She would just have to make the fae bleed all the quicker. That scent would surely aid in stifling the cloying scent of her cat.
It had been some time since she had gotten her hands on such a delightful morsel. How she hoped this one was more durable than the last one, fairy's were hardly durable creatures. Fragile like flowers, quick to damage. How timid that man was as if he could melt into the bars themselves if his bare skin touched it. The shadows blanketed his trembling form like armour. What a creature. Closer now she could sip that scent like sweet ambrosia, rich with magic and fragrant fear. Soon those memories assaulted her. He looked young, too young.... But those features resembled someone else... vaguely. But it was enough. It was hardly the same and yet her mind seemed to fixate upon it, get swept in the vile nostalgia that assaulted her. How unaware she was of Tetradore and even Darcy even then as her native tongue easily rolling off of it. Her fingers toying with the cold smooth surface of those bars only fueling the poor fae's anxiety. How utterly terrified he was, how easy it was to draw it from him. Oh, how she might enjoy this prize of hers. It was almost a pity it wasn't actually him, Matteo. But even she knew there was no way he was still alive, let alone to be captured by half-wits to sell upon the black market. If only there was another moment in time where she could savour that sweet long over-due revenge she was nothing but rejected.
That moment in which she slipped the key into its home, unlocking the door had been nothing short of anticipatory. In that breath of a moment nothing matter, those indiscretions wiped clean all because of some vaguely familiar face. Of course, he was far less pretty than the original masterpiece and so very.... Reactive. But there was something ethereal, about the fae that innate glow if you will that made them seem like the most flavourful, intoxicating candy. How her fangs near ached for a taste of that heavenly feast. Just how she would like to play out one of those many scenarios she harboured deep within her own mind if she had received the opportunity to. With a turn of her head, her gaze fell upon Darcy himself that question somehow vital to her in some way. How important it was that he remained untouched.
All for her, Darcy spoke, that seem to bring a temporary subtle kiss of a smirk to her lush sinful lips. Her hand reached out, those French word ensnaring him despite his utter confusion just what she meant. Tetradore all along was lost in his own mind, wandering perhaps drunkenly amongst the sea of matt black balloons. One stubborn one, in particular, seemed to attach itself to the feline causing a sound of irritation from her cherished pet. How dare he ruin this moment, she chose to ignore that sound at least for the moment. That resonating pop caused both vampires to snap their attention to the unlucky Tetradore, stealing that attention from Fae to pet.
Risque recoiled her hand, her attention lingering upon her once nightmarish pet that was reduced to jostling with a balloon. Of all things, that was his demise? He looked utterly ridiculous as he hissed and spit his outrage, all whilst he felt the need to stare down those balloons like they were some kind of foe. The sight to her, humourous. A rarity for her. Darcy began to utter his outrage, his eyes screaming murder when.... An unanticipated reaction seized her then. Laughter, fleeting as it was, bubbled from her at the sight of her pet's misfortune bested by a balloon. Darcy's words died from his own lips.. that irritation shifted to a forced sound of his own as if he shared in her own amusement. Surely he knew she could tell the difference between true amusement and not. Fortunately for him, her focus remained almost fixated upon her feline. That order for him to do it again was uttered with the brush of power. Tetradore begrudgingly gave in to the weight of that power that pressed upon him then. He went from ignored pet to the source of that entertainment. If Darcy seemed perturbed that his gift had been overshadowed by Tetradore momentarily, it didn't show. Risque's gaze was entirely focused upon him while that fae man seemed to eye that door like an opportunity. The man clearly desperate enough to creep toward that ajar cage door and attempt to flee when the moment was right for that sweet promise freedom. Like he could actually could find freedom beyond those walls. How could people be so naive? They all tried it, they all failed. Time and time again it only made things worse for them in the end. How terribly predictable. None the less, she took that opportunity to assess the man while Tetradore completed his task. The balloons swallowing him whole in a pit of despair as they clung to his fur in a masterful display of static. They clustered and congregated around him, the cat a magnet to them the more he moved through them. Some of them congregated near his collar like he was some kind of ridiculous lion. She could blatantly see her pets discomfort, see that agitation those balloons had offered and still she eggs him onward upon his silver leash, glinting in the dim light warm glow of her torture room. Ah, this room brought on a certain catharsis to the woman who was the devilish puppeteer who plucked the strings of those within those walls. It was an illusion all of it, for that room might as well have been all of Syn itself. That fleeting enjoyment abruptly ended too soon as the fae fled, silently.. but not silent enough for that astute predatory hearing. She abruptly stood like a lioness who caught the alluring whiff of prey, that fast movement calling to the predator within her. Even with Tetradore perfuming the air the scent of frightened fae's scent was stronger. The feline queen seemed uninterested in chasing after that prey after that debacle in the woods, that singular command uttered for Darcy to obey and perhaps redeem himself further. Those idle amusements would have to wait until later it would seem. He tied Tetradore's leash with that burst of impressive speed, yanking him from his torturous balloons. Risque eyed him idly with vague interest within the depths of her crystalline eyes as he moved like a gunshot to retrieve her birthday gift. The Fae yelled out his surprise as he struggled hopelessly within her faithful cowboy's firm, unyielding grasp. At the very least he wasn't half-dead, giving her something to play with. He might have been young, but he was healthy enough.
The fae kicked out, barely missing her pet as Risque watched idly by, her attention no longer upon her cherished pet and his misfortune and more upon her prey that had pure terror mirrored in his wide desperate eyes. Tetradore had already found a home upon that new device. Oh, she wondered if her cat even knew what he so casually perched on. His naivety amused her for a flicker of a moment, knowing that before the night was through he would learn better. Her attention drew back toward that tasty little treat trapped.
How long it had been since she had seen his true face and yet, she could still remember his face vividly in her mind. Of course, how could you forget the face of betrayal? In the better light, it was clear it was not him. But how easy it was to turn him into a scapegoat. The resemblance was enough after all.
The fairy attempted to test his binds, clearly, Darcy barely struggled to keep him still. Darcy ordered that fae still, jerking him in a violent reprimand. How well she had trained him. Even though that temptation lingered so close he hardly dared to act upon it, but she could tell it affected him. How could it not? She suddenly stirred, gliding with clear precision across the room and toward him. Each clack of the sound of her heels meeting the floor punctuated the silence than with a tension that rose with every moment that transpired.
Darcy adjusted his hold so that Risque could get a better long unhindered, his head jerked back in such a way that exposed his neck to her. Ah, a prize on display. Darcy, ever obedient and efficient in his hold of that youthful fae. How that creature paled in comparison to the real thing but it hardly mattered. She hardly needed something authentic for what she intended to do to him. Bones still broke the same... His blood would surely be quite a reward once she had her adequate time with him. After all, she had all that coiled aggravation she wished to unleash.
Narrowed eyes feasted upon the fae form in front of her, her gaze drew to that appealing neck as he swallowed hard. He wriggled and whined within Darcy's grasp. How displeasing. Immediately her hand snaked out to backhand him across his cheek, forcing his head to the side with a resonating clap, the force enough to draw forth that much-desired blood to the surface from an angry wound upon his face. It cloyed at her nostrils like an expensive perfume. "You will not escape this time." There was a burning hatred, a knowing laced within the poisonous words that spilt in that melodious fashion. In that moment in the flash of her pale malicious eyes was that he would suffer for the sins that were not his own. Those words were telling and yet not. The fae's whimpering and dry miserable sobs were greatly unappealing to her. But it hardly stopped that examination of the trapped man. She lifted up his chin even further with a single finger, his neck bent at that uncomfortable angle within Darcy's unyielding hold. Her talons dug underneath, shifting his head from side to side as if looking for something she would never truly voice intentionally.
She then pinched his chin so tightly he nearly screamed, his wretched eyes meeting her own, begging in that pitiful way as if they could reason with her. His sore mouth opened to speak, to beg, she could practically hear those words before they were even uttered. "One word and I will rip out your treacherous tongue." She silenced him, all but snapping upon him like an iron whip upon his flesh. She pressed her pointer finger slowly against his cheek, so close to that wound she created. Slowly she traced her finger along through that blood until she could feel the groves of her inflicted wound. Ah, he did look so much better bloodied. In fact, it made it harder to tell. Or so she told herself that. She pressed deeper into that angry open gash, slowly, as she dragged her finger through it, coating her fingertips with his essence and making it all the larger with her taloned tipped nail. That pain was excruciating for the fae, but it could be so much more. She knew it, she felt that anticipation of it humming like something ancient within her. But he truly had no idea, or he wouldn't be screaming so loud.
That finger prompted more of that blood to bubble to the surface in a way that undoubtedly fascinated her. How unaware she was of Darcy's own hunger in the moment. She suddenly released his face to bring those bloodied fingertips to her lips, savouring in that taste as if sampling ice cream. Oh... he did taste divine. He tasted alive on her tongue. She could have drained him dry right then and still not have enough. What was it about that blood? Her eyes seemed to glaze over in blood lust, staring as if lost in some sort of reverie.
Her hand snaked out to grab him by the collar, her body so close to his own. She curled her fingers into it before pulling down in a yanking motion abruptly. All the buttons of his loose white shirt spilt haphazardly upon the floor skittering about. It left the front of him bare before her. Those eyes greedily flicked toward as if to assess what she had to work with. He wasn't fat, but he was hardly defined. Definitely not how she preferred her men, cut like they could have been chiselled out of marble. Regardless this shirt had to go. So did the pants. But first, she needed a knife. She retrieved one, on display a unique, Damascus iron blade. It was an easy choice, considering this was one she had made specifically for faes. She idly looked on, her feline getting far too comfortable, but his emerald eyes seemed to watch on all the same. Oh, she had plans for him. It took barely more than a few moments before she approached again. The fabric seemed to almost melt beneath that knife. Her eyes roved over his pale lacking form. She kept the boxers on, after all, she had no desire to see what else he lacked in. If the lack of bulge she saw was any indication, the only thing not disappointing about him was his flavour.
There were notes of something she couldn't quite place. But it was something distinct all the same. That heady taste that lingered upon her tongue. Hm. A frown pressed across her brow in contemplation. She needed to test this. Hm. Suddenly she dragged the tip of that blade precariously close to where his manhood should be, allowing it to trail upward onto his skin. She took her time, the man tried to recoil even then. He screamed, pleaded. She would need to do something with that tongue. Perhaps she could start with actually giving him something to scream about. A cruel smile began to tug upon her sinful lips all before she stabbed him. With a vampiric burst of speed within his right shoulder. She relished in that simple feel of that resistance that blade gave when it went in. The fae screamed. The blood bubbled forth as she summoned it so, it coated that knife but not before she twisted it just because it felt too good not to before she slowly pulled it out. It was almost like this was a simple warm-up like she was getting to know her victim. His skin seemed to burn like silver did to their own kind, the pain it must have caused him and how she wanted to do it again simply because that sweet scent of him made her want more of him. She brought that blade suddenly to her lips, licking one side slowly as if it were her favourite treat. What was that flavour? Something.... She had not tasted in so long. It was a fruit of some sort. But what? It was maddening. Her gaze suddenly snapped up to eye the mismatched gaze of her lover then.
"Darcy." She peered at him expectantly, sudden and demanding."Taste this." She offered the other side of that knife with that very blood. Perhaps only slightly she was toying with him simply because she could. How precariously that knife was to his own face then, before pressing it flat against his very lips. "Tell me. What do you taste?" She uttered smoothly, her accented words were a seductive sickly-sweet poison. She hardly cared that the fae bled all over her leather. She enjoyed that scent upon her, it was entirely visceral. She could feel the fae's heartbeat against her flesh.. just how appetizing that very sensation was.
His tongue had barely touched the blood, getting only a tease of a taste before she pulled it away, placing it onto a nearby table for later. She moved toward Tetradore then, roughly running her fingers through his fur. "Bind him to the rack, I should like to see it work." She called out over her shoulder, she knew exactly what she wanted then.
"Mon chat.." That melodious voice rang out, her free hand untying her cat before tugging onto that leash, to all but pull him off his supposed platform. She kept that pressure still, almost on the verge of suffocating just so those silver progs bit and sizzled into his flesh. " I have not yet forgiven you. But I have use for you yet. More like.. Use for your saliva." For a moment longer she lingered before releasing that leash to the floor. It was a fashion statement, a statement in itself that he would be forever her pet, a reminder that she could do with him whatever she wished. She waited only so long for Darcy to bring the fae to the table all while she used those very powers to send Tetradore to pin that fae down all whilst she remembered the time when the last person she had once had a semblance of care for left her to die. How long ago that very moment was. So vague those details were and yet unable she was to forget.