Mary-Beth was so very irritatingly persistent that the vampire duo stayed, as though she had some motives beyond that sweetened exterior to keep them there. While Risque's own motives in staying were of her own making, the dangerous woman already smelled proverbial southern blood in the water. How tempting it was to push against the weakness, to poke a hole. Risqué was prone to sniffing out those very weaknesses, especially with the other opposing vampire so bravely treading on dangerous grounds with her. Those underlying meanings in the words they spoke, a dangerous game that she so excelled at. There was no way she would not rise up to that abrasive challenge, that domineering nature of the she-devil herself making it near impossible to. How could she allow her that upper hand she so thought she possessed when that need to strike a deal seemed almost clearly out of desperation. To further that slight, Mary-Beth continued to ignore her now, like her existence could be ignored. Another error in judgment, yet another tick against the southern woman who seemed to keen on poking the hellish beast that could very well end her. She felt that nagging string of tension nearly ripples through her like some tangible force, the devilish queen fought the very desire to allow her very power to flood that room. To suffocate the very house with her presence, her abilities. With Risque's patience was already worn so thin, even with the distance between her and her territory it was not nearly enough to keep her settled. She refused to ignore, nor forgive those pokes and jabs. Especially not now, when she already faced the memories of being slighted by her enemies. She certainly would not tolerate it now. She could feel that tightening of her throat that threaten to give way into a threatening rumble. It remained... somewhat composed... Like the two women partook in a fragile game of chess. At least until she insulted her mate. How that sudden urge to interject was strongly grappling at her own self-control, perhaps even so much that it surprised even herself. How clear it felt that to make that comment on him, was certainly an attack upon her. He was hers after all. That very comment lashed out from her mouth, that threat lingered within that room, the first flash of power escaping her, crackling like it might burn whoever drew to close to it. The nerve of her! Risque missed the complete look of contentment upon Darcy's face then, her gaze never straying from Mary-Beth... as if she practically urged the woman to defy her further. To issue that formal challenge.. That sudden look of surprise overtook the crimson-haired woman, who grasped at her chest like was some helpless innocent damsel to avert that terse moment. An easy mistake to believe for someone who didn't know better.

It only grated against Risque's fluctuating moods, her eyes darkening at the resistance she felt. How dare she invite her here, with expectations to fuel her little pitiful business and then play hard to get. It was nothing more than an insult to the woman whom they were asking a great deal from, in the guise of friendship. Yet there was not a single moment that went by that Risque was privy to those games, yet she was in no mood in play that toying game with her...and that feeble business tactic that was clearly failing. It was.... Bold of her to think she could be the manipulator when she bluffed about the cards in her hands and Risque possessed all the aces. It would have been in Mary-Beth's now diminishing favour to have given into the she-devil's demands. To further irritate her, she had attempted to draw out the festivities had only given Risque the perfect opportunity to pin her. To show the crimson master just who she tempted. Foolish girl, thinking she could win against her who had been playing that game far more centuries than her.

As the other woman focused on her obedient husband whom was quick to give into her whims. Risque's lips curled just slightly enough to allow a flash of ivory fangs peek out from beneath the concealed plush of her sinful lips. That look of distaste fresh upon her features. In a moment that look was gone as though it never transpired as she moved smoothly toward Darcy, those dulcet lyrics falling from her. Once she was certain Mary-Beth and Wyatt were out of ear shot, not that it would have mattered if they weren't. She would have said it to their face unabashedly.

"You mean they are not serving... blood?" Incredulous were her words replicating her shocked expression. What were they serving then? Risque was sure they would have brought in their finest mortals to serve at this feast. That sneaky little poodle of a woman offered yet another tactic to yet further that displeasing slight against her... another weak attempt to seize control. Her gaze strays from Darcy toward where the southern woman lingered, returning it toward her lover once more. "I suppose she will have to get reacquainted with me." That promise nothing short of venomous. That perfectly shaped brow rose as a feline-esque knowing smile dared to toy at the edges of her lips. It was almost a pity that the two influential vampire women could only get along when they shared the same enemy. Yet it was barely an afterthought in Risque's own calculating mind. It would seem that the stakes of that very delicate balance had shifted.

Risque casually rose the bottle within her hand, it held almost preciously enough within her fingers as if she cared little of it simply crashing to the floor. The bottle with its frilly pink label adorning that tinted bottle was nothing short of a firm representation of the southern woman herself. She replied vaguely about the moonshine she possessed, answering the question that he uttered. "It would appear so. This..... alcohol is seemingly designed for vampires, strong enough to get our kind.... Intoxicated. Why anyone would want to drink anything called Moonjuice... is beyond me." How clearly she had her doubts and yet she refused to touch the vile drink here, in the middle of nowhere, within the territory of another coven. The vampire queen nothing short of unwilling to lose her inhibitions in the proximity of a potential threat, blooming suspicion lingering within the depths of her hypnotic gaze. She pressed the bottle firmly into his chest, an indication to take that bottle to examine at his leisure. It was his turn to share that incredulous look upon his chiseled features. It was that that very mention of the contents of the bottle, that question that seemed to lure Mary-Beth from her dark corner sweeping across the floor to goad her guests just a little bit further. Another slash against lashing against her, Risque so pivoting with that sinuous movement to face her. Darcy, it would seem had already lost the last thread of patience, responding to that bite with his own. It was amusing to watch that polite mask crumble to those true caustic colours of Mary-Beth shining through within that moment. That tension had been slathered in a coating of formalities, but even that was nearly worn to nothing now. Risqué made no move to interject, curious to see the southern woman challenged by someone she perceived as beneath her. It was like listening for the signaling ticks of a countdown of a bomb ready to detonate. She knew very well the nuclear weapon that lay just beneath the skin of her lover, how she almost craves to watch him go... her own finger caressing that figurative button. She made no move to calm him, to offer him that reassuring touch to lessen that perilous pressure, to stop him.. No, she simply waiting for that final word to tip him off that perilous ledge... of verbal sparring. Darcy was not wrong in his counter.

The feline queen so watched those words transpire with a bored look of amusement. The part that was destined to meddle, wanting to fuel that tension that Mary had seemed to coax at her insinuation of their relationship. Darcy seemed ready to escalate that singular step forward taken toward the southern master with a distinctly violent motive. It was almost unfortunate when Wyatt's voice found its way through the tension before Risque could utter those words that would snip that last shreds of resolve. Wyatt entered that room with purpose to serve his wife, clearly obtaining that drink that he had been ordered to bring her. Standing close to her side like he stood guard of his precious petunia. Wyatt attempted to be the voice of reason, attempting to diffuse the situation that had been escalating the moment Mary-Beth opened her mouth to speak. Risque had not remembered her being so... unpleasant. But it was clear her lover was already wound uptight, but that moment for that battle passing even despite Darcy's threat. The dirty blond vampire seeming unphased. If he was worried he hardly let it show upon his calm exterior.

How incredibly dull. Risque so losing interest in that moonshine all together. While it was a good source of tension, she was beginning to wonder why she should care. She placed a hand to rest upon her hip, tapping her manicured finger against it impatiently, that mention of offering more of their product as a gesture of good faith to lessen that mood doing little to impress her. His smooth complimenting words attempting to appeal to Darcy himself along with his fuming mate. Mary-Beth seemed none too pleased by that offer, that scornful look she shot him made it all but apparent and yet she had no other choice but to give in and comply. It made that plastered phony smile to falter in that clear unhappiness that seemed to please Risque enough to stay, to make the southern vampire suffer just a little further. Accepting those additional bottles especially knowing it displeased her seemed like immediate vengeance, despite it hardly satisfied what she so wished to do. A moment later that fake smile returned to her lips, Risque seeing right through that brittle composure, chiming in with her lightly accented words. "We will take the extra bottles. Although, Mary Beth is very clear on what I desire if I am to entertain a deal at all.. product aside." Not with a label like that it wouldn't. The pink frills and name alone would be nothing short of a vampire deterrent. But Risque was not at all concerned with swaying the woman, she knew she hadn't a choice. Risque always got what she wanted... even if it meant solidifying a deal to control her. She sniffed the air, a blend of scents so permeating the air at the mention of dinner. Risque so wrinkled her nose at the thought. Darcy had been right it was...hardly the food she had been wanting. "Is that what I smell... dinner?" The woman could not feign interest even if she tried, she could have sworn she smelled frying oil amongst the combating smells.

After the announcement that it was dinner, the southern couple spun around to lead the charge toward the dining room. Marybeth's dress only making that action all the more dramatic, as it flared about her, swaying about her hidden physique, her perfectly coifed crimson-hued hair unmoving. Risque watched with a strange fascination, she had never liked those lavish gowns she had once worn, why this woman chose to wear so many hideous layers was beyond her. She found them restricting, concealing, oppressive, even then. Risque found far more beauty in the womanly physique that lay beneath it and chose to flaunt her own sinful attributes. Even if it only served to add to her allure whilst her victims so remained focused on that revealing attire entirely. She seemed swept away in her own thoughts before it was a shift of Darcy soon maneuvering to settle behind her that suddenly broke her train of thought. His lips so finding her neck when they were alone, as though he craved to touch her, that affectionate gesture so strikingly different from the man who was ready to pull out his guns. Yet it was that sinister remark that drew that wicked grin to her features, considering the other woman's behavior, it hardly sounded like a bad idea at all. "Hmm.." She uttered softly contemplating that very moment, pressing into his body that so lingered behind her as if she moved with a promise she hardly intended to keep. At least not now.. As Darcy moved to pull away Risque so turned to face him, closing that distance enough so that her finger pressed upon his chest, dragging it idly downward. "She will hate that... " She knew he knew it, she knew he cared as little as she did to undermine that hostess that was about to feed them. She tapped her finger as if thinking about that very notion, her fingers danced smoothly over his stomach as if she would continue her hand lower and yet never did, that action not wholly absentminded as she leads on. "Good.. I should like to wipe that smug little look from her face. She needs a reminder in manners.... hospitality. She is lucky that is all I wish to take from her.." As flippant as always, she so suddenly picked up and moved toward where the other vampire couple had trailed off to.

They moved toward the formal dining room that was lavishly decorated, that table far too large for merely the four of them and yet it was fully decorated with little untouched, those extra chairs having been removed. The centerpiece was lavish ornate pale blue and gold pot that held pink and white flowers along with lit candles, their flames dancing from the commotion in the room. The whole house seemed to possess pale pastel girly colours ornate in all the patterns and hues Risque so fully despised. She was forever the contrast within that house, like the shadowy city encroaching upon the southern country, yet she hardly appeared unfettered by it. She never did. Darcy then settled down within the chair at her side, those human servants paid little mind as they settled them into their seats. It was, however, their cloying scents that seemed far more delicious than any meal that was concocted within the kitchen. How she would have preferred it were the human's served up. Wordlessly, the crimson-haired vampire so clapped her hands sharply to summon the hard-working staff, careful to avoid eye contact, moving quickly with a slew of food unveiled and placed before the vampires they served. Risque neatly placed that custom linen displaying a 'C' upon the fabric upon her lap before observing the red soup, dyed in hue from the splash of blood.. and various other ingredients that has her questioning its contents. Was that... overcooked mushy lentils? Risque so peered down at the monstrosity placed before her. This surely had to be a joke.... Serving soup at a vampire gathering... hardly sounded proper in the slightest. That southern cuisine was observed with little more than disapproving suspicion, not to mention that heavily fried battered meat that lingered on the side of her plate seemed to offend her by simply existing. She swore she could see the glint of grease gleaming off the breaded substance.

The rest of the vampires seemed already digging into their soup, while Risque made no motion to do so, even though she held the spoon like she would rather use it as a weapon rather than to use the utensil to taste the food. The clink of spoons occasionally hitting the fine china as the vampires eagerly eating that meal, save for her. Darcy so uttered that the soup was boiled pork. Filthy animals pigs were.... The fatty salty meat hardly appealing to her whatsoever. Risque hardly responded in turn, dipping her spoon into the blood tainted soup. What a waste of blood she thought.

She lifted a spoonful only to watch that thick chunky soup to fall back into that bowl with a loud unappetizing splash. Eventually, the she-devil so attempted to take a taste, a small taste if only for that blood alone. Salt assaulted her tongue.... It was almost overpowering over the blood and whatever else was within what could only be described as a poor man's soup. That look of distaste so overtook her features, the woman placing her spoon down beside the bowl, before shifting it away from her. As though she could barely stand it existing in the same space as her. Risque's icy gaze slid upward to Mary-Beth's smiling face, before uttering something to Wyatt. How that agitation began to swell within her. It was then Darcy as if he attempted to snap her out of that fixated state, mentioning that battered fried chicken. IT hardly improved her opinion or mood. "You can eat mine." Risque declared, making it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with the served up meal.

It was Mary-Beth who spoke, Risques' eyes sliced upward to glare at the nervy woman who sat across from her. Risque so grit her teeth as if she wanted nothing more than to take that crimson soup and pour it all over her matching red hair "No, I have lost my appetite." She stated displeased not even bothering with that façade, her words as cold as her expression.

"Business hm? Is that what you desired to speak of? I believe we have said all there is to say unless you plan to concede to my demands." She responded sharply, ging her a rather deserved unabashed look. After all, it was Mary who desired something of Risque. It certainly was not going to come for free in a gift-wrapped package. No, the woman must be sipping too much of that sweet tea. The dark-haired mistress was very sure that no matter what deal she forged, she always came out on top, even if it meant undermining her altogether. The two-woman locked in an intense stare, Risque never one to cower beneath the weight of Mary-Beth's stare. Power started to prickle the air around them, as if nothing else existed at that moment, the two male vampires all but forgotten. Risque's muscles began to coil as if she fully prepared to tackle the floofy princess to the ground like one of her cats right across that table. Her eyes began to glow, just barely before Wyatt's imposing voice slid across the void, that phantom voice of reason. There was no table that would keep Risque from his mate if she so desired it.... The woman were all but growling at each other, that steady spill of power beginning to flood the room as if it could suffocate all those that lingered within it. That gaze was unwavering, Risque surely not willing to be the woman to look away first. A complacent, quiet natured Wyatt seemed desperate to lull the tension, but she hardly heard any of it. That noxious scoff all but parting her lips.

Darcy so denied Wyatt's request of playing that piano for his mate. His stance firm, impressively knowing exactly where he belonged and where those loyalties lie without further prompting. It was Mary-Beth who broke that locking death stare suddenly with a delighted sound, ignoring Darcy's disregard to that request. How quickly she changed her tune, as if not ready to deal with the repercussions of her own actions. Risque so sat forward, leaning in without realizing she had lost her lax composure. A song... that was hardly desired... least of all in the moment. The vampire queen had yet to hear the other vampire sing and how sure of it that it would be a disaster. That prolonged conflict abandoned for now. Risque sank back into her chair, regaining that resolve, crossing slender arms across her chest. She plucked that napkin from her lap placing it haphazardly, disgusted upon the table. The statement of her opinion of the matter was quite clear.

Mary-beth quickly summoned her weak, cowering servant with a severe snap and instant point of her finger at the piano. There was no doubt in what she desired. The obedient man all but trembled, it was a wonder how he could walk at all with his severely shaking knees. His fear was like blood in the water to a room full of sharks.. While... the rest of the vampires were sated, risqué felt her hunger intensify. While she enjoyed a little more a challenge in her foods, she was thanks to Mary-beth's poor meal selection, still very much hungry. She had not fed since the day prior. It did little to help her foul mood, dinner clearly was a mistake on her part. Not that she would ever admit she ever made an error in judgment.

It was within the first shrill notes that shattered the quiet of that room, Risque visually winced. It was Darcy's utterance those words spoken under her breath that only the she-devil seemed to hear over the woman's horrid bleating pitched sound. Wyatt seemed to be entirely blissfully tone-deaf, intently looking upon his wife with utter bliss. Risque leaned sideways toward her lover, casting him a sideways glance.

"Give me the gun and I will do it myself.." Her eyes rolled slightly, her voice hushed as Mary-Beth's vocals reached a new high pitched sound. That sound rattling with her mind, melting away the very last tendrils of patience she possessed which had already been gnawed on like a dog to a bone shaved down to the marrow. Mary-Beth stomped her foot on that hallowed sound of the ancient oak wooden floor beneath her as if sensing the attention no longer upon her. Risque has had absolutely enough. In an instant that nearly had her chair flying behind her as she rose to her feet so swiftly she was merely an angry blur. She strode like one of her sleek felines on the prowl, unblinking as she made her way to that cursed piano. She had just about enough of Mary-Beth's theatrics, the assault upon her own dominance. Like she... could stand a chance against her. Did she forget just who Risque was? The power that thrummed through her veins, crackling to life with each step and yet. Even as she allows that hungry power press against the room, she does not lash out. At least not yet. The woman was controlled enough to contain that hungry power within herself. Mary-Beth's eyes seemed to follow her and yet Risque hardly was afflicted by the woman who looked akin to an ornate wedding cake with limbs.

One more out of tune note near blistered her very ears, and she had the audacity to continue! In an instant, Risque sliced across the space between the hunter and her, barely in time for that human nervously playing to realize that Risque was behind him. With a sudden burst of movement, she placed a hand on either side of the human's head, too impossibly quick to possess a moment to react before she snapped his neck like a twig. His head spun around to face her, that comical look of surprise still adorning his face. But at the very least, he stopped playing... and Mary Beth finally hesitated her horrific song lit up by an intense fury.

"Dinner is over..." Risque so cracked the whip of her words, smugly slicing over the sudden quiet that blanketed the room. She violently slammed the dead human into the now cracked piano in a sickening thud. It hardly took any time at all for that blood to permeate the air as she so struts with near languid purpose toward Mary-Beth in clear challenge. To hell with friends she thought. It was for that crumbling semblance of friendship that Risque did not take the piano and toss it at the coven leader herself. Risque's movements were deliberate, slow, and purposeful. The click of her heels echoing over the silence Risque has created. Fortunately, Wyatt knew better to keep his trap shut this time.

"I have had just about enough of this so-called Southern hospitality. Not only have you done nothing but try to exert your dominance over me and mine since I have come all this way, you lie... you serve me... servant food..... Do you have something you would like to say Mary-Beth? Or is it a challenge you crave? Do you really think... you can dominate me? Me? When all others have failed. That is cute.. but darling it is a bad look on you."

She took another step toward her, allowing that power to crackle, to press against Mary-Beth, that torment's icy skeletal hands of that power slithering through to the other woman's mind. Risque so leaning forward to press her lips to the woman's ear. "You would not last an evening with me,
caniche." (Poodle)

She leaned back, taking a long single step back.

"If you are going to start a war, don't do it all alone... but you are more than welcome to try.. but I assure you... I will rip out your vocal box before you can utter another note. So to save yourself the humiliation.... And your pride... do yourself a favour and take your Wyatt's advice, bring me a case of your finest.... Whatever you wish to call it..... Moonjuice... and we will be on our way.. When I return home... you better pray I find you more amenable than I do now. Perhaps then, you will become more reasonable." Risque had no intentions in negotiating with her, certainly not now.

She allowed her gaze to flicker up and down, disgust written as clear as the vividness of a full moon. "It is a shame Marie.. a true pity that I could even for a breath in history thought.. you were worth my time." If she knew better, she would be thinking of ways to make Risqué forget those transgressions. There was certainly very little stopping Risque from taking her own army after the war and razing this plantation to rubble.

That threat laced thickly through that air. She does not strike her, at least not yet.. her powers at the ready should the southern belle refused to take that warning even though she was quite sure she could take her the old fashion way.