I am what she made me
her words are spiderwebs inside my head
Darcy's mismatched gaze remained narrowed upon the the other man as the Were meandered near lackidastically into that room with all the enthusiasm of a fucking wet sponge. That look of stoic apathy was Tetradore's permanent face, he was sure, Darcy long ago having lost any real interest in trying to draw any other emotion out of the other man. Save for those occasional looks of fear he seemed to enjoy attempting to tease from behind Tetradore's well worn shields. If only to remind the Were of his place in that hierarchy. Tetradore's very position, after all, seemed to constantly....shift in time with Risque's fickle moods. His having taken Risque for his mate had, in the least, seemingly afforded him some solid footing in the constant rise and fall of his lovers wave-like desires. Even that newfound relationship, however, had hardly improved that consistent....disdain that seemed to run like an unending thread between Tetradore and himself. It was almost unfortunate really. The man had been promising- as a child. Tetradore in his boyhood had been....almost amicable. At least to an extent. Darcy, at one point in time, having very nearly been fond of him. If only Risque's own fondness had not grown in turn. Tetradore, so unfortunately, having become the single and only rival for their Mistresses affections he could not eliminate. Any hope the pair had once had of a....tolerable relationship had been all but dashed agianst the rocks. Darcy, now, hardly capable of looking at Tetradore without allowing that growl to rise in his throat.
It would be just like that little wretch to drop that glass too. No amount of beatings ever seemed to change the WerePanthers snarky nature. It was almost as if he'd grown immune to them, in a way, over time. It was very near impossible to punish Tetradore in any true fashion. He had nothing and no one he valued to be taken from him. Physical pain only achieved so much. Biting him was effective and yet Risque so forbade him that very pleasure far more often then not. Maybe if he was allowed to do it a little more the boy wouldn't be so fucking disobediant. Tetradore had no sooner placed that glass on the bench then the younger man seemed to grow fixated in that television. So much so that Darcy;s command for a screwdriver went unanswered. The emerald eyed man was apparently bloody deaf too. Darcy's near barked words seemed to prompt a response from the Were. Tetradore apparently content to stare blankly at him, as if his mind ran so slowly he could hardly contemplate what was being commanded of him before- finally- he reached for that screwdriver. The tool was passed silently to Darcy before Tetradore's gaze turned back to the tv, Darcy, in turn, content to ignore the Were as the Southern vampire returned to that task at hand and the motorcycle engine he needed to rebuild. Tetradore's continued presence was an irritation and yet, for now, Darcy was simply willing to ignore him.
Tonight, it seemed, the vampire was in an almost peaceable mood. Almost. Darcy had tuned out the sound of that tv near as effectively as he had tuned out the sound and scent of Tetradore himself. That engine took far more of his attention as he worked to diliengelt clean each of those pieces and put it back together. It was quieter down here. He could actually hear himself think. The constant rhythm and sway of the music upstairs was near painful on some occasions. Darcy reached for another piece of that engine, the vampire paused to study it a moment before aligning it just as it should be. His fingers worked diligently, screwing it into place with a satisfying perfection. His mind enjoyed being busy, in having something to focus on. Darcy the kind of man inclined to grow bored easily without a task and yet that very reminder of how hungry he was continued to claw at his throat. The screwdriver was laid down beside him as Darcy rose to his feet, the grease from his hands wiped smoothly across his jeans as his gaze caught sight of Tetradore again. Hmmm. He'd almost forgotten he was here. A soft snort if disdain huffed softly from his nose before Darcy strode past the other man to snatch that glass from the bench. That liquid was still warm, the taste far more appealing that way as Darcy all but downed the glass. That satisfaction, that feeling of fullness, would hardly last long. It never did. Not for him. Still- it took that edge off.
His tongue moved to swipe across his lips, capturing every last drop of that blood, before his mismatched gaze cut toward Tetradore once more. Darcy, this time, eyeing the other man almost contemplatively. A certain thought had lingered upon his mind ever since the night of Risque's birthday. That evening having turned into a veritable shitshow in more ways then one. Risque, in the least, had enjoyed those 'celebrations' even if Tetradore had gone too terribly great lengths to attempt otherwise. It was those very efforts, however, that had prompted Darcy's suspicion to begin with. Here and now they were alone- without Risque to watch over either of them.
"Why'd yar do it?"
Those words were sudden. Darcy's southern drawl was thick within that space as the television program switched to a commercial for toothpaste. The vampire's gaze remained near fixated upon the Were in a manner almost predatory perfore his lips parted again.
"Dat nighta Risque's birthday. Yar killed dat fairy. Why did yar kill it?"
Tetradore, he suspected, would do no more than shrug his shoulders if allowed. The Were was nothing short of fucking beligerent when he chose to be. Darcy so hardly willing to let this one go so easily. After all, the thought had toyed with his mind for days.
"Even 'dough ya fuckin' act like it 'alf da time you ain't no damn fool Tetradore. Not dat much o one anyway. Yar seen Risque and me and da others kill a million times and ya ain't never interfered like dat 'efore. Yar might be a moron sometimes but yar ain't suicidal. If yar were yar would 'ave offed yar'self years ago. Yar knew dat killin' dat Fae wasn't worth it, but yar did it anyway. Why? If yar shrug yar shoulders at me i'll break 'em both."
i'm in love with the madness