He had forgotten Kasey. In all the years that had passed between them. She had been a faint remnant of his human life. A fragmented fraction he had cast aside right along with humanity itself. He had never believed for a moment that she had persisted in this world. Let alone as a vampire. She was a waste of that immortality- of that Darcy was certain. They had been...friends once, perhaps, years ago when he had been weak and vapid and human and allowed himself to believe for even the barest of moments that Kasey McCloud might ever be the best he could do. Their fathers had surely considered it a good match. Though who the fuck knew why. Kasey's family had been near as poor as his own. What would they have inherited on their wedding day? Two patches of fucking dirt? As if one hadn't been bad enough. That...loathing the vampire held for everything and everyone from his human past continued to simmer beneath the surface of his darkened countenance. Darcy, for now at least, was content to offer those words with a lack of emotion. The vampire displaying the very control he knew Risque not only demanded but expected from him. A control Kasey lacked entirely as his words clipped and stung at her nerves. Her outrage was clear. Her emotions were erratic. How fucking lucky he was to have never gotten himself saddled with this fucking wreck of a woman. Whatever thoughts of...pity he had for her were quickly buried. Replaced within only discontent at her demeanor and too- her very words forcing him to near reveal that engagement he'd seen no need to mention to his own mate. After all, it had been nothing. He had held no more future with Kasey then he had held with Jakin itself. Has Kasey truly believed anything different?

That disquet that settled upon the table in the wake of his rejection only seemed to prompt that moment to sting all the more. He could feel Kaseys outrage and yet....hers was hardly the only rage that persisted. Darcy's mismatched gaze cut briefly toward Roscoe as he all but swet her up in some jovial embrace with the claim it was fortunate Darcy had never married her, leaving her available for Roscoe himself and yet that undercurrent of discord existed still. Kasey was in for a beating tonight- of that Darcy was certain. Roscoe, despite himself, hardly seemed to kind inclined to let his woman speak out of turn like that. His act was merely just that. An act. A show. A game. One that concealed whatever his true purpose was. Darcy hardly fool enough to believe this southern hospitality came without a price. Risque stirred beside him. The raven-haired woman seemed to take no small amount of delight in that argument and yet- didn't she always? The vampiric woman was nothing short of...expert in plucking the strings of those around her. Risque so eternally drawn to chaos. Even at his own expense. Yet- it was Kasey who had drawn his mates ire. Those casually offered words were uttered almost...sweetly and yet even Darcy could detect that disdain within them as Risque queried whether or not Roscoe and Kasey were married. That very query seeing Kasey hold herself a little higher. Of course we married. It ain't proper for a man to go carryin' on wit a woman he dont intend to marry. It jus spoils the goods then. Dun tell me Darcy ain't asked ya to marry 'im yet? Can't be lettin a man drink da milk without buyin the cow, honey. Dat's what my mumma always said.

That veritable snarl rose within Darcy' throat entirely before he could prevent it. The vampire distinctly refuses to allow his beloved to be spoken of with anything less than the reverence she deserved and yet...how victorious Kasey would be to know she had gotten a rise out of him. That very irritation only further simmered beneath that surface as he bit back the growl that threatened to follow.

"It ain't da fucking forties no more, an o'course yar Ma would say dat. She was a damn heifer."

Kasey, Darcy suspected, had been nearly ready to fly across the table at him and yet Roscoe's grip around her seemed to tighten in a silent warning. The vampire woman fell quiet despite the irritation that rolled from her in waves. The topic of marriage was one he had never discussed with Risque. She was not....the marrying kind. To take her as his mate alone had been the sheer pinnacle of his existence even if he had contemplated...marriage, more then once in his existence. Still- he was hardly fool enough to press. His lover's moods were as fickle as her whims. To have her admit any kind of love for him, surely was a better goal to seek then some human ceremony of commitment. Had he not already proved his commitment to her time and time again? His very world revolved around her. His moon rose and set with her. There was no higher devotion to his mind. Darcy was uninclined to push for what he was sure she would refuse him. He had forgotten how....backward the South was. How locked in history and time. Risque once more stole that conversation back toward herself with the suggestion that Kasey take up yoga. How expertly she played at those already taut threads. Darcy, this time, unable to prevent the simper that danced momentarily upon his lips at his mates near masterful working of those words. Kacey's features only darkened all the more. What a curious relationship that pair across from them held. Roscoe was far more in control then he chose to appear and yet he still allowed Kasey those outbursts to an extent. Perhaps they served a purpose, somehow.

Roscoe's voice broke that tense silence then, the other man content to do as so many men within the South did and address Darcy himself rather than Risque. Women, after all, held a place within those deeply southern counties. One distinctly beneath their men and yet how assured Darcy was that Risque did not belong in any such place. Nor would she tolerate it. She alone stood at the pinnacle of the hierarchy of Syn. As was her right. Even within their role as mates, Risque remained that....dominant force. How drastically his life had changed from what it would have been had he chosen to rot away in this place. Darcy hardly chose to respond to the man. His own lips sensibly sealed as Risque spoke for herself in the very fashion he had anticipated she would. That surprise on Roscoe's own features was momentary and yet it existed all the same. A long with a single flicker of irritation. So the buffoon of a man did have some sort of plan here, even if he was yet to show his hand. Risque's assurance that she did indeed hunt, that none had escaped her was met with a subtle nod of agreement from Darcy himself. The southern cowboy content to lean back within his chair with a seemingly casual ease as he watched on. That alcohol had made his mind feel almost...lazy. His temper was perhaps a little more mild then usual. Hmmm. He'd almost like some more of it.

"Fetch me some more 'shine, Kase."

How exactly he knew what he did. Darcy content to play by the very Southern rules set before him. He was a male guest. Kasey was a woman. It was her job to serve him. Kasey rose obediently from Roscoe's lap to veritably storm to the end of the table only to fetch a bottle of moonshine still unopened and place it before him. Darcy reached smoothly for it, pouring himself a glass before leaning over to fill Risque's in turn. Mixing moonshines. How dangerous this was about to be and yet how little he cared. Roscoe's near curious suggestion that they stay was hardly one Darcy had expected. Risque was quick to answer once more. His lover insisted they had no intention to stay. She had taken what she needed from the Boot Barn and saw no further purpose here. Her comment upon that moonshine a veritable blow that hit harder then Darcy believed even she had intended as Roscoe scowled all the more. Darcy's own words, this time, rose above that music and din.

"Risque is right, yar shine ain't near as good as da stuff we got either. I came back ta get rid of me farm. I did dat, we ain't got nuthin' ta keep us 'ere no longer."

Darcy lifted that glass to his lips once more. Moonshine from a glass, how very....classy. Damn but his head was almost swimming. Roscoe seemed silent for a moment before his head simply shook. My coven's runnin' a little low on vampires, I got fifteen or so but i could use more. Reckon i'd like yar and ya women to stay. I own all the land round here, I'll split it with ya. Your ladys a little mouthy but I can live with that. As for this shine o'yours if you reckon it's better then what we got here put your money where your mouth is."

"We ain't staying in dis shit 'ole of a town."

The idea of Risque as a.....farmer was almost ludicrous. Darcy himself held no desire to go back to that way of life. Let alone that unspoken notion it would require submitting to Roscoe's leadership- and Kasey's.

This town is still where you came from Darcy, how bout you show it a bit o'respect?
"When i see something' in it worth respectin' I will."
Them's fighting words Darcy Blackjack
"We leavin', Roscoe"
Oh no you ain't, boy

Boy? He could hardly remember the last time anyone had called him that. Not since his father. That singular moniker prompted a near violent spike in his own aggression as his lip pulled slightly back from his fangs. Shoot for it! Clay's voice rose above that argument then. The slightly overweight vampire had, seemingly, been listening to that entire conversation. Darcy's head near snapped sideways, his mismatched gaae narrowing upon the man he had once, years ago, found some sense of...friendship with. Such a pathetic, human notion. Roscoe's the best shot this side of the border, Darcy used to be back in the day. Shoot for it. Roscoe's own gaze narrowed slightly, his attention shifting from Darcy to Risque and back.

You a gamblin man I hear. We'll have a shoot out, a doubles game. I win and you and yar mate belong ta me for ten years. Darcy's head titled ever so slightly. A shooting game? Did this fucking fool really think he could beat him at a shooting game. He was damn near drunk and he was convinced he could still do it.

"Yar, alright, imma take that bet, but if I win yar coven 'as ta sell the moonshine me and me mate make."

Jakin had supplied moonshine to half the south for years now. This...would be a perfect distributeur for that....moon juice. Once Darcy had worked out how to make it, replicate it and sell it for Syn rather than Mary Beth. Roscoe's bark of laughter echoed through that hall then. That's what you want if you win? Fine. Let's go. Roscoe rose abruptly from that table. Clay's excited shouts of 'a shoot out' had brought most of that room to attention as they all but raced towards the doors in clear excitement, those children running with equal squeals of delight. Darcy's gaze merely rolled as he moved to rise from that table, his hand held neatly out for Risque to take to assist her in rising in turn- as if he had not just gambled on the next ten years of their lives.

"Dun worry Darlin', I ain't gonna lose this."

Roscoe moved to lead the way out of that barn then and towards those rolling fields outside. That entire group, vampires and humans alike having formed an excited semi circle of sorts, several people rushing to find a pile of old crates to set up at the far end of the field- only to balance those empty beer bottles on top of them. Those crates barely more than specks in the distance. Darcy moved to fish that gun from its holster before gesturing toward a place away from that crowd for Risque to stand. Only for Kasey to block his mate's path. Where does Miss Skinny Hips think she's goin? Roscoe said it was a doubles game. Yar mate shoots too Darcy.

"What? Dun he jus mean double shots?"
Ya didn't ask him ta elaborate did ja?

Darcy's gaze narrowed distinctly. Maybe....he shouldn't have had quite so much moonshine. That was near the oldest damn trick in the book- and he'd fallen for it. Kasey was a decent shot. She always had been. If Roscoe was even half decent they'd earn a good score. A score he couldn't beat by himself even with a perfect round. What's wrong Dar? Yar woman ain't never shot a gun before? Kasey's jeering so hardly helped as she strode back towards her own mate. Darcy's lips parted ever so slightly, his tongue bruising agianst them in contemplation as he moved to step beside Risque once more, his head nodding to those crates with the empty glass bottles resting upon them that were little more than specks in the distance at the end of the field.

"Yar get ten points fa 'ittin da bottle, five points fa hittin da crate and no points if yar miss. Day add my score ta yar score. We each only get one shot hough. Do yar....tink yar can 'it it if i show ya 'ow to use me gun?"

This.....was going to be a disaster. Risque was no longer even walking totally straight, or maybe that was just him. Hmmm. How very...blurred the world seemed.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.