The looming presence of the Southern vampire at his side did little to prompt even a glimpse of alarm from the otherwise stoic panther. Tetradore was far too invested in the amber liquid within his glass to care of Darcy's existence, even despite the undead man's clear effort to appear somewhat domineering as he berated Cobain and himself for their seemingly indecent behavior. Risque's comfort admittedly, hardly high upon Tetradore's priority list. Even so, the Alpha spoke distinctly little, all but willing to ignore Darcy's goading as drink orders were placed and, just as quickly, arrived in front of Tetradore himself. It was but the saccharine sweet voice of his mistress herself that prompted even the slightest reaction within the man, the sheer idea that Darcy was a real gentleman was enough to prompt an audible snort from the Were-King's nose. How quick Darcy was to placate their mistress in some misguided attempt to earn her affection, her love, her adoration. Frankly, if the man desired it so greatly, Tetradore was more than willing to let Darcy take his place on any evening, the were-panther instead longing for the freedom that Cobain seemed to near scoff at. How lucky the teenage vampire was, even if the boy was too fraught with his own wallowing to even see those few blessing that Tetradore would have happily killed for. Such thoughts, however, were interrupted by the sound of that low, goading voice within his ear, one that brought a scowl to his features as he retorted, much preferring Darcy's silence to the bullshit taunting the vampire so liked to attempt.

Tetradore was hardly prepared for the rough touch of Darcy's hand against the scruff upon his jawline, the vampire hardly gentle as he forced the were-panther's head towards him. The Alpha's emerald eyes narrowed in clear acrimony. Oh how well he knew that challenging look! The very kind that so strove to incite violence within the often recklessly rebellious panther. For a brief moment, his vivid gaze traced the now smooth slope of Darcy's neck, his own venom's damage had long since healed, regrettably. The very glimpse of Darcy's sharpened canines resulted in an almost beast-like growl within the back of Tetradore's throat, that reaction near subconscious before Darcy all but strove to shove him away. The Alpha quickly resettled upon his seat, hardly losing his balance and yet his own voice was near threateningly low as he offered his own retort. "Next time, I'll bite your fucking head clean off your shoulders. Wonder if a vampire can come back from that." His emerald eyes hardly ceased their glare as Risque's voice cut through that veritable battle of wills, the seemingly young woman commenting upon their apparent crankiness. As if anyone but her was ever truly happy within the depths of her depraved dance club. Tetradore said nothing of it, however, the man equally as content to ignore Darcy's inquiry on whether or not he was fucking Cobain. The sheer idea was hardly even worth the panther's acknowledgment! It was, perhaps, unfortunate for Cobain that the younger vampire saw this as a moment to so poorly goad the Southern vampire, those attempts, Tetradore knew, were quick to fall flat.

His emerald eyes shifted briefly towards Cobain at the very sensation of movement at his side. The very sight of Risque sliding into the young vampire's lap caused his eyebrow to rise ever so slightly, though he had little interest in saving the teenager from his own self-inflicted torment. How he watched with a raised brow as Risque's icicle gaze shifted almost knowingly to the vampire at Tetradore's side, the woman clearly toying with both men by that single act alone. He was hardly surprised as Darcy so quickly abandoned his side, maneuvering with a maliciousness as he circled Cobain, purposefully placing himself behind the younger man. Although Tetradore was oblivious to Darcy's hand, he was hardly ignorant to the fellow's more violent nature, that threat altogether present within Darcy's voice alone. He watched as he sipped upon his own liquor, the man well aware of Cobain's hands upon Risque's shoulders as the vampire leaned forward to mutter in her ear. It was, perhaps, his proximity and supernatural hearing alone that allowed Tetradore to hear those words uttered and yet, the man could hardly help that roll to his eyes. "She's not your mother, you fucking idiot. She's your maker. It isn't incest." Jesus, Cobain was draft if he was that incapable of telling the difference between those relationships. It was, after all, a simple matter of biology. "You really shouldn't start something you can't finish. If you really wanted to piss Darcy off, all you had to do was kiss her." He motioned lightly towards the bartender in an effort to refill his glass, only to lean his cheek against his hand. Tetradore was altogether uninvested in the poor 'torture' Cobain was presently stuck in the midst of. After all, why should he bother to help the very man who had once taken out his ever-present disgust at the world on him? Frankly, he hoped Darcy crushed the boy's skull for even laying a hand upon Risque - at least that would be entertaining.