Risque never married in all her years on this wretched earth, she had avoided that fate... even if only narrowly when she was human. There was no shortage in suitors and yet how much a death sentence that was. It enraged her father beyond repair, her mother's disappointment just as clear as her father's outbursts. She was to serve one purpose, to improve upon that family name, by blood and political alliances. How she avoided those constricting vows, refusing the very notion to be anyone other than herself even though her father sought time and time again to make a match somehow more lofty and more ludicrous than the last. Match after match she refused by any means necessary. It was not difficult to sabotage those very offers, even if it took a little help. It took little time to become undesirable even despite her family's noble bloodline. If she were to get married, it was by her own terms, ones that were never met, it would seem, or perhaps simply because she refused it all along. Besides, the alternative she had found was far superior. One that came at the expense of realizing anything she had ever achieved was done on her own and there was no blood she would not shed to obtain it. She had heard Kacey's closed-minded views long before that blind woman was even a spec within her mother's belly. How pitiful it was for a woman to be so brainwashed, to not think for herself... but Kacey it would seem, for all her so-called spirit was weak, in all matters. It was unsurprising like most beings were. Her immortality wasted upon the weak here. Their little coven would forever be stunted. It would have been entertaining to destroy it.. But her mind for once... was focused on something that Kasey had said. What a strange term, milking a cow... and buying one. Like women were nothing but goods at a cheap flea market. How ridiculous a notion. Perhaps most women were like cattle. Most men too. Easily bought and controlled like mortals and their foolish whims. How shortsighted. Yet how easy it was to despise such beings, destined to mill and focus on their petty way of life, never to dream of true power and the ability to actually conquer one's enemies, to take what she wished to take. They had no idea and they most likely never would. Forever she would rise and the rest would falter. No better than the fruitless lives they surrounded themselves with.

How quickly Darcy snarled, his temper flared hot and ruthless, her hand once more found his leg that tensed like a coil willing to spring. How entertaining it would be to watch him throw himself across the table... to rip them to ruin before her. Risque could, in her very stupor could not help that laugh... like honey, it seeped from her sinful, stained reddish stained lips. Kacey's words meant to sting and yet how funny she found them. She was like a bee with no stinger. Their small little bubble of an existence foolishly made them think they could last one minute in her world. Her fingers drew languid patterns on Darcy's leg before his words cracked like the sound of his gun going off. Darcy immediately went to attack the woman's mom she so revered, her cowboy clearly knew where to hit where it hurt. How she loathed the talk of these familial ties... how she loathed that it triggered such peculiar and dark tarrish thoughts within her mind.

Memories always served as a faultline for darkness.

Kasey, the woman who simply could not quit when she was ahead spat her words. Oh she was simply making a fool of herself. Even the cheery mask of her mate seemed to falter. "In all that you said.. Tells me everything I need to know about you. So, your value... is being milked was it? Or is your value in being a cow? Help me understand." That languid near cruel smile seemed to persist when suddenly those french lyrics escaped her. "Que diriez-vous d'un mouton ou d'une chèvre? Cela vous semble plus exact, non?" Her voice was melodious especially within her mother tongue as ever and yet she is the only one to find amusement in her own words. But even that seemed.. Kind. This party in every sense was a disappointing one. Actually partaking in that party it would seem, was not destined to be. Squandered at this bore of a table, with even lesser company. Yet.. that alcoholic haze that clung to her seemed to entertain these silly people.

At least, causing chaos would suffice. Did it not always? Not that it took any true effort. Kacey was left with nothing but a sour look upon her feminine features, it made her look older, weathered even, that no amount of beautifying or vampirism could fix. It was far too easy to toy with all that reactive energy. She knew her type well. This party was a waste of time, one Roscoe seemed eager to commit himself to squander. It was clear he held his own motives close to his far too muscular chest, waiting for the opportune time to reveal them as they would ever impress her. Risque was hardly concerned with his foolish wants, yet wouldn't she enjoy denying him. Simply because she could and that he was but a fraction of power that she possessed in her pinky finger alone. It was humorous to watch him act like he possessed it all, that if he knew the truth... That he had barely made even the most minute chip in the paint.

Now, he had made a grave error in addressing Darcy instead of herself, the alcohol still seeped within her veins made her mind feel.... Well like clouds, soft billowing clouds. It was a bizarre feeling... one she meandered through. How it was hardly like her to tolerate this nonsense for as long as she did. It seemed to soothe that usual burning ire that was content to devour all in its path... She should make them all grovel... she thought somewhere vaguely in the back of her mind. Let them all feel like they had power and then pull it right from beneath his dirty, scuffed boots. That conversation seemed to bring forth the man's true nature, it hadn't been a challenge to provoke. Her hand brushed along Darcy's leg like she would one of her cats, the sensation hardly the same even if absent-minded as the gesture was all the same.

However, those words barked from Roscoe to his wife or was that moniker most like called servant. Which hardly seemed to matter one way or the other to Risque, vampires all had their own unique blend of hierarchy. Only Roscoe's was far less.... From apparent. Fluctuating from one thing to the next. The woman dutifully went to obey his command as if he was tired of her antics, that sneer so entirely clear. Oh what she would give to witness that domestic dispute break out. Risque judged her, her icy gaze watched nonchalantly her every move as if she hardly trusted the little fly not to tamper with the alcohol. Especially now.

Darcy was quick to obtain that sealed bottle, cracking open that seal before pouring that glass for herself and him without a bat of an eye, even while Roscoe seemed to watch on darkly the gears shifting within his own mind, unable to hide it. Those thoughts folding within his mind... folding in on himself. Oh perhaps he might finally blow... a gasket. Risque examined the liquid within her glass, the blood that still clung to the bottom seemed to paint it in the palest of pinks. It smelled worse than that moonjuice... and yet with already so much of that potent liquor flowing heavily through her.... She hardly seemed to mind. In fact, she said no word as she swished the liquid around the rim as if examining the legs of wine, that liquid nearly sloshing beyond that rim. It was then that the offer of staying there had been finally revealed. Like she would spend one moment longer here than in the confines of their hotel. Room service, how exquisite it sounded... To wash that dust and grime of the country from her skin. Oh that luxurious hotel that awaited them after was long needed. How she almost longed for it...

But she was no wuss. She remembered Darcy's words, content to play out that obligation for a little longer, until she deemed it necessary. After she tasted it, she spoke those very thoughts. As much as she hated to admit it, Mary had the far superior Frankenstein brew. Perhaps she had something.. Risque uttered her disappointment in their findings near casually, a dagger clearly hidden in those words even if she hardly realized its weight. How little did she care that she offended his unworthy ego.

Darcy saw fit to echo her very words, as Risque seemed distracted within the distant notes within that... assaulting liquid that burned her tongue. Ah, this was how they stomached those southern dishes, they had all but burned off the useful tastebuds of their tongues. More liquor flowed, more barbed, veiled insults... The tension at that table began to rise as clearly as the moon itself. Darcy and Risque content to indulge and how the world itself seemed to be nothing but a drunken haze... she felt like she was on a boat in rolling waters.

Perhaps she was finally feeling it. That realization seemed to stand out within her mind, even if it was long before this. Roscoe's commanding voice seemed to slice through the fog as that alcohol took hold. How much time had passed? How much she drank seemed inconsequential. But vaguely important... Blah blahblah... split the land... fifteen or something vampires in his coven, none of them worth a spit in a glass. How little she cared about his operation here that he spoke of with such certain pride. Bragging of his dirt and other meaningless things within this tiny little derelict town. Oh, it was not a flaunt.. But an offer. To stay. Risque seemed to huff, her gaze narrowed as that slow anger began to creep within that alcoholic haze almost to forget it! How quick it turned to amusement.

Darcy was quick to deny the vampire leader. His description...'shit hole' crude as it was... was an accurate one. Yes... this place was an outhouse. "Oh they have a sense of humour..." But it was clear, Roscoe was not joking. Darcy was quick to engage within that verbal fight... It was the final words... of that commanding disrespectful tone. Her mate was far more man than that mountain of muscle and nerve. Boy? She certainly would not use boy to describe her mate. Such a blatant assault to undermine him. Perhaps he should come to regret that.

"Oh Rossy... you have not seen me being mouthy and Darcy would attest that when I do.. It is not without a sting.... It's so interesting to hear of your small achievements and even smaller... ...." Perhaps she was mouthy.. It was far too easy to let loose and enjoy herself of that view... of that look upon his face... alcohol in her glass and no shortage of people to toy with.

The words themselves had fled her.. Or had she forgotten her own point... What was the word she was looking for. An exaggerated dip of her hand. Oh yes.. There was a word that would work superbly. Whether it was the original one she intended to or not.. She said it anyways.

"Brain.." Risque couldn't help that sound of amusement that surfaced, so close to a short laugh. Apparently she was the only one who found herself so amusing.

It was then that tensions began to strain their limits. Oh... it looks like there was going to be a massacre after all. She nearly sang those final words as she placed her glass down forcefully. As though she fed into that tense mood encircling them all. It would seem a fight was inevitable. Perhaps it was needed to make this party her own. Who would be the first to die she wondered. She was just about to announce their own deaths. But they were suddenly cut off by Clay that saw to her lip to curl upward into a sneer, that flash of a singular fang that he seemed all but oblivious to.

She had forgotten he had a spot at that table, he was a forgettable kind of man with his happy go lucky antics and plainer looks. He was... the kind of man that would have been a good follower, a peacekeeper if you will. He truly was a cop to his core. It was his bright idea to mention a shoot out. A shoot out... how tame in comparison to the thoughts that pleasantly danced within her mind, a poor omen to anyone it included, unawares or not. Whatever happened to a good old fashion fight to the death? To rip apart one's enemies with bare hands for sport? Men like gladiators rather than their tools. How little she seemed to care little for those explosive hand rockets that Darcy seemed to amuse himself with. Those guns did look good on him, just as well as he was good at wielding them. She could already feel her own powers slip beyond a spider web silk-like threshold, as though she could have allowed that terror to seep into the bones of this creaky barn, all the things she could have made them see. Now that would have been a show. But not yet.. Perhaps she should allow them all to play their hand... How she knew guns would hardly lack any kind of finesse. Finesse was certainly not a word that belonged in this place like this. Pity.

That gargantuan hulk of a coven leader seemed pleased. Once more, foolishly speaking to Darcy alone. Ten years? In this dust bowl? He must be out of his head! She opened her mouth about to put an end to this madness once and for all.. Someone had to put this Roscoe in his place if he thought he could possess a queen amongst peasants, as though a jester could be somehow more than just that. A jester could only lead his fools and even then there was always a queen above him. It was a lesson she was more than content to teach if she could stand... Hm. Yet standing hardly felt... good. Maybe she could do it from this bench, while she sat. She had not anticipated Darcy's voice amongst the fray. He spoke for them both, she could flay him for that. It seemed to irk her that he would choose that moment to speak up. Even though accepting that bet was well within his nature, she knew he'd never been able to resist a bet he knew the odds were within his favour. Yet still, Darcy was far too content to gamble their future, even though there was no hope in hell that Roscoe boy could contain her. No cage could. A frown marred her perfect features, and yet... even drunk... Darcy spoke sense even through his blunder. He sought to find a way to dominate them without even touching them. To turn her idle, dismissive thought into a reality. Even still. Perhaps... there was an opportunity here, a devil's deal to be had that could cripple this town into relying on those funds, their earnings would depend on Risque and Syn... and at that moment.. that Coven was basically hers even if Roscoe failed to recognize it. How could he miss it? Darcy and Roscoe shot back and forth, in rapid-fire, there was far more at work than mere verbal blows.

Even with her own personal... dismissal of guns... Darcy was an indisputable champion. If Darcy wished to dominate the south before they cut their ties... perhaps she could find enjoyment in that. After all, she was quite certain he was better than this wretched graveyard, by her side. He had to be. He was her second. Her mate. Her lover. He had to be superior in every way and yet, how could he take a bet that included both their futures without so much as a glance?? She looked at her own talons as if this whole transaction bore her and yet how far from it. Was there money to be had here? She didn't have a need for the money and yet... there was always an allure for more. Especially with that war on the horizon, it never hurt temporarily... not to mention, to possess Roscoe beneath her thumb... Seemed appealing and yet any attachment here seemed to leave a vile taste within her mouth far worse than Roscoe's less than superior moonshine.

It was not long before Roscoe's abrasive, boisterous laughter roared within that barn, he could hardly believe that was all Darcy wanted. So incredibly short-sighted of him and... how her mate seemed to think far beyond him was telling. He had come a long way since she plucked him from that forest, only to groom into the perfect being to be at her side. It was only a moment before chaos erupted, excitement for that shootout. Whatever that meant, it seemed to prompt a loud excitement to those that echoed it loudly, allowing it to spread like wildfire to even the eager guests outside. Such strange customs. Risque turned toward Darcy then, her hand that was already placed upon his thigh pressed heavier then, relying on him for stability.. her lips drew to his ear as she leaned into him.

"You better know what you are doing.." She spoke, allowing that irritation enter sharply, a breathy whisper in his ear unsure how loud she truly was in that moment, but the commotion around them would certainly drown out. "I do not trust him at his word.. He will not lose quietly." She would not.. But Roscoe was... hardly close the feline goddess that she was. Yet the rules within the south seemed... different. It would be foolish to rely on the sentiments of honour. Best to be vigilant. Well.. as much as she could as her eyes seemed to blur at the edges.

"But you may dominate them with your guns..." The thought seemed to amuse her... A coven brought to their knees by one simple shot... or two apparently.. How silly.. To end a dispute with a bullet. It seemed a lot like bluffing to her or, merely a distraction.

She had some drink left, the thought of liquid remaining untouched within her glass seemed to put her off. She released him before turning to that glass, grasping that glass allowing what was left of that liquid to burn down her throat. It was far harsher than Moonjuice was and yet.. That alcohol previously..... Seemed to turn even the most vile of drinks into... tasteless water. Or maybe her senses were failing her. She hardly made a face, like she hardly drank something that would burn her insides like the holy sun. Darcy stood to his feet to meet his fate, that gentlemanly offer of his hand as the squeals of children slashed through her skull as everyone funnelled outside to witness their spectacle. She placed her hand daintily within his, that gesture automatic, one she had been all but accustomed centuries ago to those a part of aristocracy. It was different from how she took his hand before and that entirely an old way of doing things should have been long erased. It should have disturbed her and yet how the vampiric moonshine did not make her question these things. Inhibitions were hardly going to get in the way tonight.

When she found her feet, it was then truly.. That the world seemed.... So very askew. Was it always this.... Fuzzy? She was forced to rely on Darcy's hand far more than she had realized. Oh... dear. "My senses... have fled me." How emotionless those words were as she stated that fact except that final word was uttered amusedly as though she might actually laugh. There was no denying it, she was drunk. Why did it amuse her so? How she lacked her usual ominous tone, her usually composed nature somehow slipping and yet she steadied herself within her mind. She was stronger than any alcohol that stained her. Or so she claimed. In a few hours... she would be fine. That was far more important than the vague threat that Roscoe presented. She stepped away from that chair, brushing her legs as if ridding herself of the filth that was not there, sorting her hair as if she longed to have it brushed.

Ten years, what was ten years to an immortal? Truly. Nothing but a preposterous blip on the radar. But what was ten years to this soul sucking pit of a place? Let alone... she found it vaguely amusing that he thought that this coven could be her superior. She had far more worthy threats scraped from her office walls. Perhaps she had played her role too well. Or perhaps she hardly took it seriously. Why should she? Risque managed to focus on the arduous task of placing one foot in front of the other to join the crowd of eager people that clustered a respectable distance away, with the children clawing to be right in the front row. She could hear the crowd's keening, their murmurs. This was amusement? Shooting at bottles and crates? Were they not to shoot at one another? Darcy already drew his gun from his holster, all before gesturing to a place she could stand to view the festivities. How she wished that swaying to stop.. Maybe if she commanded it to.

The feline queen had forgotten all about Kasey until she blocked her path. She was.... Far more fleshy than Risque's svelte form. Perhaps that was why she seemed so keen to refer to herself as a cow. Like it was a good thing. Her voice seemed just as irritating as Roscoe's as she dared to block her path... 'Skinny hips.'. Was that supposed to be an insult? Risque's sharp gaze narrowed upon Kacey like she were an insect, yet again they continued to undermine them. Insult piled upon insult. Kacey spoke once more.. Using the same name she had called Darcy. Fool of a woman. Risque flashed her fang as she took a step forward. "Close your mouth or I will close it for you. I promise you, I will not need a little gun to do it." Go on, let that rage go little girl. How quick when that emotion took flight it was to find that glaring weakness. Emotions, when you wore them so obviously were too easy to manipulate. Go on... strike, her posture and apathetic gaze seemed to goad... If she were to raise even a finger, she could destroy her flat out without 15 vampires lunging at her. Or maybe they would? How much loyalty did this little girl have? How many would avenge little cottontail?

Risque seemed ready for it all the same, but the woman smartly decided to run along to her mate's side as if Roscoe could protect her. Risque's powers seemed to unfurl, like an itch Kacey could not scratch. An icy prickle at the back of her neck like someone was watching her, like doubt, it encircled her... tasting her... getting to know her in an unspoken but no less portentous way. Risque's powers leak and needle within that crowd, that energy all seemed to shift. It was like.. She could feel all their nightmares, pooling about their feet... just begging to be summoned to life before their eyes. How easy it would be to consume them all in it. It was seductive almost as much as the idea of sinking fang into the nearest human.


"Why is the cow telling me what to do? I do not shoot.... Guns.. Is this what you mean when you said you... had this?" Risque's attention flit to the crowd, that was boisterously anticipating for the festivities to begin. This was not having this in hand. Darcy explained that very game, already committing to that fate. Distaste, it lingered and pooled upon her tongue. Or was it that taste of that less than superior moonshine that lingered there? She hardly knew. She placed her hands on those so-called skinny hips, her fingers toying with the knife she had still perched upon her utility belt.. Along with that unique castration device.

"Are you telling me that they are excited overshooting at moving targets?" Risque then looked to those carefully placed obstacles, they were moving, right? Swaying back and forth like a willow tree in the breeze. How unaccustomed she was to be this drunk. "Hand it to me. You gun, let me see." She reached out an expectant hand. How hard could it be? She waited for it to rest in her cool palm, it had some distinct weight to it. Hm. Her right hand held it. She had shot a gun or two in her time. Not well, in fact, she was destined to hit anything she intended to. They were frustrating devices. She took off the safety, enjoying that sound of the click. For a moment she looked like she knew what she was doing. "I can shoot a gun, Darcy. Don't look at me like that.." Honestly, his face hardly changed, it was like she was speaking to herself.

She waved around the gun idly, with her finger upon that trigger. A no no. It came as no surprise when her finger might have faltered a little more than she intended... that misfire narrowly missed the crowd of people. The bullet sang through the air aiming with purpose into the ground... almost. A strange cut off sound bled into the night. It wasn't long when they were met with babies crying and that crowd backing up. She cursed in french, the backlash of the gun misfiring.... it bit against her hand that was not prepared for that recoil. She hissed her discontent, even going so far to flash fangs at the gun she still held. Guns.. how she preferred the intimacy of knives.. The control of a whip. A blade... It was true control. That distinct precision to execute her every whim and nuance. It was poetic. The children were clustered around the body of a Rooster. It would seem she had hit something. Her gaze lingered upon that pile of feathers. "Oh good. I shot something." She seemed proud almost, undisturbed that she had narrowly missed those people. She acted as though the she-devil planned it all along. She rose her gaze, caught a glimpse of what lay in a blood-tinged ground. "Roosters." She uttered with clear disdain. France's animal. Good. It morbidly seemed to serve her point at how weak a creature it was. Her lips curled into an almost cruel amusement, draped in a drenching pettiness of a grudge she'd held for far too long. "I never liked those...Filthy creatures." Hardly perturbed.. She pinched the gun, holding it barely by the hilt to hand it back to Darcy like it was infected. "On second thought... You better go first. Show me what you do.. "