Risque seemed unable to allow her focus to slip from those loud boxer's that he had chosen to wear. Those loud, demanding colours and confusing print hardly allowed her attention to waver, that question finally parted from her in a near reluctance. As if she could not believe her own curiosity about such a trivial matter. Yet here she was. It certainly flattered his figure at the very least, his chiselled body carved near perfection the light playing shadows from where his muscles protruded. Yet even still! It was those cursed shorts that seemed to distract her more. To make matters far worse was that his reply did not betray any true indication as to why. Why did there have to be? Perhaps it was because she possessed such a fascination with them, one that she could barely understand herself.
With a slight nonchalant dismissive wave of her slender pale hand, the vampire woman's gaze seemed to linger upon her lover's physique as if considering something elusive in the interim. A pause lingered between them as if forced to decide her opinion on them. "...I do not hate them." Yet, she too hardly had a reason as to why. In truth, she probably should have hated them and perhaps on anyone else she would have seen to them burned. Hmm. The thought that began to forge within her fickle mind seemed to dissipate at once. The fact that she allowed them to stay said enough. That conversation shifting the 'Game of Thrones'. That very show left her with far too many opinions upon the characters, vastly different than the norm.
"While Cersei appears to be the only one capable of keeping a throne unlike any of the ones lusting for it. She is far too emotional. She makes rash decisions and no matter how far she had climbed she relied on men. Much like all the women in that show, even the mother of dragon's began with needing her stallion to begin that army. Now...above all the riffraff... despite watching the squabble like children. I should like to see the night king prevail. If not to see the rest of the entitled dribble get a taste. They were feared. They had discipline and control." She paused. He would win a battle, truly a formidable foe. The dead were clearly meant to rise. "He is the only one that does what needs to be done without the distractions. It is a pity we live in a world where the media feel the need to have the hero prevail. It is one of the biggest problems. Giving people a false soothing hope like a babe with a pacifier. Light.... Dark.... Is only in fantasy. A way to cause segregation, that mentality of us vs. them. The real world, there are no heroes, only those that survive and those that do not. Of course, while I enjoy watching them try, I would like to see every last one of them fail. None are worthy. But like all things, this story with their pretty dialogue and gore will feed into the endless machine. But what will it matter? If those fictional beings were real, they would end up being consumed with time. Nothing but bones to rot in the ground. This plight, their desire for a throne is all in vain. They all have no true power. Not really." But those with immortality. Like the dead... like Darcy and Risque. Now that was true power.
Daenerys was an entitled brat, that while she inspired loyalty. It was based on a foundation of powerful men who shaped her. She hardly possessed the callousness that would be required for true greatness. Her heart for as strong as she portrayed it to be was only as strong as her greatest weakness. She contemplated a thought that was fleeting but no less potent, it hardly had to do with the show and yet her own predicament with Cade. Vampire battles, in general, tended to last far longer than most considering they have gifted what humans were not so lucky to possess. Time. Deep within the throes of that intricate thought, she allowed her towel to fall from her figure of pale alluring perfection, the feminine curves of her body making her the ultimate sinner's wet dream, enticing and wicked. A body that Darcy was all too aware of and not immune to.
Just how often she enjoyed the chance to toy with her lover, especially when her mood welcomed it. However, such devilish intentions were scarcely upon the torturous dance she often played tonight. That nakedness was simply because she enjoyed feeling that cooler air upon her still-heated flesh. It was almost enough to cause a shiver along her flesh as she dipped into the confines of her wardrobe and the alluring press of fae blood and wine slowly began to weave its magic. It produced a heady, divine mixture that alleviated her poor mood. But not even spared Darcy the curse of those 'no-sex-pyjamas'.
Regardless, Risque savoured that divine taste upon her tongue, it seemed to spark to life her taste buds in a way normal food had long since done. She should have stopped at just one large glass and yet Risque did not stop herself from pouring herself another which only alluded to her distracted state of mind.
She was certain her mate would enjoy it, the magical blood potent to their kind. Even the wicked femme fatale was not immune to its intoxicating sway, Darcy already endeared himself to that taste. Just as he would come to crave it even despite the abysmal cost of it. "Just wait until it settles within your mind." The blend of fine French wine and that magical blood certainly worked quite well. It would be reserved for special nights, or those particularly poor evenings when that edge refused to lessen. She was so often unflappable, but even the devil herself had their moments. War, it would seem with a being whose numbers rose by each passing night certainly was enough to warrant it.
Darcy's gaze seemed to watch every move she made, that letter perched precariously close to her placed wine glass. "France, as it would seem, has an image problem. They are being made a mockery of and they refuse to see it. I have taken it upon myself to see it restored. But the government is nothing short of a bunch of grumpy old fools. One day, you mark my words. They will see it. Perhaps sometime I might pay them a visit. I am afraid I don't have the connections I once.... Possessed. I will not be ignored. Are you aware of France's national animal?" Her faded accent still lingered within her words.
That conversation soon shifted to the mindless Tv program that played out upon that screen, Risque found her place nestled comfortably within the soft expensive sheets and copious pillows. While Darcy took to an idle scroll upon his phone. Risque hardly enjoyed reading the news right before slumber.
It wasn't long before Risque began to comment upon that show, the sweet influence of the wine pressing like a breath within her chest and mind. Darcy was quick to respond, to agree about that comment about hair. Risque, always kept her own well maintained, silken blue-black midnight locks long and luscious. Even now, it was tamed and smooth, framing her face, her own hand idly toying with a single straightened strand that fell well below her chest. Risque's judgemental scoff escaped her, not understanding women and those cropped haircuts. In her time, a woman's hair was a prized possession, one that was revered. Some noblewomen would pay a pretty coin to purchase a wig if they were not as lucky as she was.
What next will they chop off? Their breasts? Risque shifted to get all the more comfortable, sitting cross-legged beneath the bedsheets, propped up against the plush embrace, the woman enjoying those creature comforts. The show droned on, Risque only half paying attention while her mind wandered. Apparently, that idle drivel hardly seemed to sate that sharp mind entirely. That was until that attention-seeking woman began her scene. Risque's comment drew that drew forth an amused chuckle from Darcy, ever privy to her even when he focused upon his own interests. That sound seemed to garner more of her attention over Princess' growling reaction to that ginger cat from across the room, the one who sat contently by a table by that television. Risque having collected that beast that very night she combed the west, a call to arms. She thought she had dismissed most of the smaller felines and yet... somehow he managed his way inside Syn along with a few other larger felines. That spat of dominance between both cats was entirely lost to her, the tomcat remaining within his perch in clear view, clearly unwilling to give up his self-proclaimed territory. It would seem his aspirations to be the dominant male in that room still ever clear in his posture and the blatant way he appeared to even size up the male vampire in Risque's bed. It was that slanted calculated stare that seemed to blatantly show he had made an enemy of the cowboy! Those signs were easily dismissed especially when a feline so small hardly posed a threat. Yet his very presence seemed to produce an imbalance within the vampire pair's chamber.
Darcy drew something far more interesting to the feline queen's attention. The mention of a Crusnik in Sacrosanct seemed to pique her curiosity for a time. Those vampires forced into hiding, for their own well being. Despite them being well equipped taking down another vampire, their numbers were painfully low. This one seemed quite content to flaunt his popularity and influential friends. Foolish man. He put a target on his own back and in turn unintentionally meandered within Risque's crosshairs. Her tongue darted over her lower lip in contemplation, her dainty lower fangs pressed into the plush underside of her tongue. How easy it was to discuss one's demise like others discussed the weather.
Risque was well aware of her mate's displeasure of that abomination while Risque considered the possibilities of possessing such a rare creature. Another beast to add to her menagerie. Although not many of them survived long within her hellish kingdom, in comparison to her felines. A rare vampire would be an impressive trophy to dangle in the faces of their enemies, a potentially lethal weapon if under control. Her own opinions hardly withered beneath the reservations Darcy possessed. It should come as no surprise that Risque had an acquired taste for possessing rare things. There would be some benefits to possessing such a creature, she knew it, just as well as it would be a wonderful status symbol that not even Cade could wield. Yet she was only half-hearted in that pursuit interest. Much like a cat watching birds from afar... and yet she would hardly say no to such a creature should it fall into her lap. That fae-blood intoxication struck her delightfully. Darcy was already prepared to offer a plan to bestow such a gift to her, the man was forever willing to capture the very moon if she so desired it. Her mate's eyes shifted toward her as his diabolical plan drew her attention wholly upon him. Oh, she was definitely feeling that fae blood and yet she drew her drink to her lips hardly refusing to give up that taste until every last delicious drop was consumed. Calculating hypnotic eyes seemed to drink him in, nothing short of intrigued as he spoke his plan to give her a Crusnik upon a silver platter. How could she resist? Whether that desire for one would remain the following day was still in question but for now, it pleased her. How she enjoyed these potential games.
At that very moment, the devilish queen could have purred in satisfaction. "I can train him in less.." Her rich melodic voice slipped ominously beyond her lips, pausing for a moment to consider just that before that pleasure from her mate drew the following praise. "Mmmm.. I am reminded of why I chose you." But it was that mention of Harley provided an opportunity. Two birds... one stone. " I do think it has been long enough. It is time to test our green pet's worth. Perhaps we should see how she fares against him. Put that training to use.." A wicked subtle smile curled upon her lush lips before she bit down lightly in contemplation.
"Oui, bring him to me. I should want his fangs too. Perhaps that venom of his might be proven useful. Even if the man himself is weak." Her gaze returned back to the photos on the screen, that debonair prince caught her eye for a time. She had heard of him. The incubus prince. Darcy was quick to insist upon his sexual orientation like it truly mattered. Her lover grew into an irritable state of huffiness! That burning jealousy rose within him entirely while Risque remained blase, lost in a trailing thought.
The vampire queen's idle finger toyed with her glass in a clearly suggestive manner before Darcy's envious bitter words rang obviously clear. Risque so enjoyed poking the embers of his control, goading those possessive tendencies to the surface simply because she could rile him like no other. Such idle little games still appealed to her all the same. She found amusement in his reactiveness as if she knew exactly as he would respond. Tiny fangs... "Hmm you are probably right.." She gave one more final distracted glance before her gaze sliced toward the fairy king. She never really cared much for Italy. Their accents tended to grate on her. Yet her sharpened stare narrowed upon that image. While the Italian was handsome, there was something about him. With that fairy-blood still fresh upon her tongue she could imagine his exotic aged taste. Her hand snapped out and encased around Darcy's wrist, drawing his phone closer within his hand rather than just taking that device from him. What was it about him? The fae... she couldn't put her finger on it. It was elusive like a fist full of sand. It was a temporary feeling, her attention span shortened dramatically from her wine.
Darcy's discomfort ensnared her attention once more, thoroughly, like a drop of blood in a pool of hungry sharks. Amusement flashed within her gaze at his unease over such a small.... Housecat. Of all of them, this was the one that seemed to bother him. Not the panthers... not the tigers... not even the lion that they had lost that possessed a clear distaste for her cowboy. She released his hand suddenly, her mate was quick to reject the notion that he was fearful of anything. Yet there was something, a thread she had caught and she refused to let it go. In fact, she summoned the very beast in question just to test that theory, as though she could appraise that very proximity with that discomfort. Now if she could only get him to admit those words out loud.
"Of course not, especially one so harmless as this one." That long-haired feline seemed to prowl with an arrogance across that room as if content to meet his mark, Risque. That gleeful purr escaped him loudly beneath her very touch. Every move was entirely deliberate, including that intentional devious glance toward Darcy himself as her lips quirked into that sadistic grin as she gave in to the subtle drag of her intoxicating wine. It was sad that the glass was near empty. That was when Princess seemed to sense that tension, her dislike with that tomcat was audibly clear. She was sure it was a mirror of her master's discontent. Her cowboy had trained her well, inspired obvious loyalty within the feline.
The lynx even dared to test her boundaries upon that bed as she drew toward the cat with clear intent for an all-out war that was sure to bloom without intervention. She paused, her wine glass abandoned upon that side table as that precarious silence began to rise. Both felines seemed to prepare, tension-filled their bodies, muscles coiled, ears flattening, that strange whine of warning abandoned the ginger feline. Risque hardly felt attached to this one, but if it were not for Darcy's discomfort she would have probably not given it another notice. Curious it would seem just how long he would allow Princess in her unruly display, Risque content enough to permit it.
She remained still, something about the situation seemed to spark an unspoken amusement, an excitement that shivered welcomed within her mind. Darcy's voice cut through it, her lips curling further into an anticipatory gleam as that challenge emitted, her gaze met his own with a fascination.
"A challenge?" she cooed in a truly amused fashion, an eyebrow shooting upward. Perhaps it was that high that had crept upon them both. But it didn't matter. Her emotions vacillated into something far more serious then, sitting straighter. "This battle is unmatched. But the felines.... unproven dominance must be earned." It was clear that the fluffy Maine Coone cat did not stand a true chance even despite its size, he still paled in comparison to his feral counterpart. In an instant, she pushed him off her lap, the feline hardly prepared, but he caught himself regardless after a stumble. He twitched, his tail snaking to and fro as if embarrassed to be shunned from his queen but that did not last long before he skirted soundlessly towards the foot of the large bed. Risques expression remained pensive, drawing a taloned fingertip toward her lush lips, casually tapping as a considering sound resonated from her throat. "Mekel." That singular clipped name issued suddenly into the dimly lit room, the more dominant feline of her two clouded leopards. Princess, Mekel and Osiris were roughly the same age. The trio grew up with each other.
Fitting, that they were gifts to one another. Mekel rose to her paws from her favoured resting spot within that room. The petite leopard stretched lazily, a responsive sound rose from within her throat as she made her way to the bed with that long impressive smooth gait. Risque would not leave a challenge unmet. Especially not in this bed.
Darcy knew this, his tactic to distract her from him had proven successful. Risque rose from her seated position to rise to her knees, the blanket falling from her figure. She felt the tingle of that buzz assault her again that only made her want to grin. Cursed fae blood. Mekel waited patiently on the floor by her side. "Princess must defeat the ginger cat for him to lose bedroom privileges. I will not tolerate weakness, even here." She declared with finality, her voice possessing an almost theatrical amusement. "But the true challenge lies with Mekel. A far more even match. Perhaps it is you who should be scared, lover." She looked down upon her mate nestled comfortably underneath the covers as she rose higher upon her knees, towering over him. She hardly elaborated on what was to be won, Risque wasn't even aware of it herself. It would seem her usually calculating methods abandoned for..... Fun. What a strange notion.
The felines met upon the veritable battleground. The felines met with few testing blows as they started in a rather vocal boxing match. Princess' yowling by far seemed to amuse her the most. What an odd sound!
Risque caught a movement upon the television. How very much that male model looked like Tetradore. How quickly Darcy's mood immediately shifted upon a precipice, his voice almost growled. Risque continued to remain upon her knees, hands placed easily upon her bare legs. Clearly oblivious to those buttons she pressed.
"I have no use for his words. For as much as he seems to despise them, they certainly flock to him. It's been some time since he bothered with a lover of his choosing..." Her gaze shifted to stare at Darcy's mismatched eyes... struck with a far more intriguing idea.
"How confident are you in your..." The words never fell, stolen from the sound of the squabbling felines. It was an all-out war of fur and claw.
It would seem those felines finally began to go beyond their mere bravado. The ginger cat attempted to bite at Princess' neck, with needle-like teeth that were truly no match for the bigger feline. The ginger cat daring to try and mount her but entirely failing as Princess large paw met purchase with his face with a remarkable thud! For a sliver of a moment, it almost seemed like the ginger cat had a chance in that battle, recovering far quicker than most. Risque watched on with an eagerness. Princess seemed almost calculating in her final assault that sent the nameless feline off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, an agitated meow.
Risque rose to her feet upon that bed seamlessly, standing upon that plush surface, her feet sinking into the luxurious mattress beneath her. "Princess is the winner.... Ginger cat....... Is sentenced to room banishment." Later.... The midnight haired woman was quick to call forth her true champion. "Put your phone away.." Risque hissed, now almost standing over her lover, the tip of her toe nudging him. Whether he was looking at his phone or not, it hardly mattered only that she wanted it free from her sight before the true battle began.