He had known as surely as he had known the sun would rise that his mistress would find an intrigue in that metal-made cat. Mechanical though it was and truly far from the living, breathing softness of her feline companions that machine so sought to prey upon her other delights in the life. That Cat so seeking to appeal to her of violence, of chaotic resolve, of cruelty and ingenuity all at once. That feline shape merely an icing upon the metaphorical cake. Yet- his mistress was a truly fickle creature. Her tastes as ever-changing as the direction of the wind. The vampire entirely aware that at any moment she might find some fault with his creation and by that simple association- with him. Her very words, though seemingly placid, were laced with that undercurrent of...suspicion. Risque so seeking to expose the weaknesses of his newest creation. These very weaknesses beyond his ability to hide. After all, she would discover soon enough that the metal creature's strength was tied to his own, that his own exertion mirrored the felines and that the moment his hold upon it faltered that cat would simply cease to move at all. Darcy himself so affording it every semblance of life. Risque already having deduced as much. Darcy hardly foolish enough to lie as she queried whether or not he could command it to anything so provided he was both conscious and held the strength for that command.

"Yes, Ma'am."

He nodded simply, confirming her very thoughts, before she sought to reach abruptly out to that creation. Her hand sought those sharpened teeth made of polished steel. Risque pressing abruptly down upon that fang until her very flesh gave way, that blood beginning to run freely now- that warning to be careful falling near unbidden from his own lips. Risque content to all but ignore him in that interim, Darcy so inwardly chastised himself for that momentary slip of his tongue once more. He could hardly help that very protectiveness he felt for her, even from his own creation. How desperately that very desires and emotions so conflicted within himself. A raging war that so rarely held any true victor. That battle of submission and domination so colliding at times with one another and too- that part of himself that remains so irrevocably in love with her. That desired to protect her. Own her. Keep her for himself alone. That very blood that streamed from her hand was akin to a failure on his part to prevent that damage to the perfection that was her being and yet within that same moment the very scent of that blood was nothing short of alluring. How readily he could feel that saliva coat his teeth and tongue in simple anticipation of tasting that that blood he had tasted so often before and yet was so often denied in turn. Risque ever masterful in so affording him just enough of it, just enough of her and her attentions and affections, to keep him dangling upon that metaphorical hook. Ever hungry for more.

His mismatched gaze lingered upon her hand as she marked that metal creature for her own. That she-devil seemingly content with her work before she stepped backward to query after those newest recruits. The insinuation within her honeyed lyrics hardly lost. A simper of amusement so finding Darcy's own lips in response. This a command he was more then willing to comply with if only for the satisfaction it so brought him in turn. Darcy perhaps equally inclined to take amusement in that carnival of carnage her words promised. Even if only upon his own terms. That very victim for that display so chosen with a distinct care. The easiest victim for him to strike down and yet one whose very nature would irritate Risque enough to prevent the woman so questioning his choice in target. Darcy nothing if not masterful in his own manipulation so concealed beneath that submission and desire to please. If Max was true to his nature tonight, as Darcy so anticipated, Risque would find herself irked by the boy near instantly. She would desire his death far to much to question why Darcy had chosen such a young, inexperienced vampire to prey upon when an older, more practised being might make for better sport. How very much he adored his Mistress and yet how well he had learned to twist and turn just as he needed to avoid that lash of her metaphorical whip. Self-preservation very near a talent for the man.

Risque, it seemed, was more then willing to take him up upon his idea as that call was made. The woman insisting that Max sounded like a near perfect target and one worthy of being culled. That near apathetic tone to her voice giving away her lack of concern over the matter. Darcy's own attention returned to his creation, that flick of his hand sending the creature away and into the shadows of the trees to conceal itself in the moments before Max arrived. The boy falling into that trap near instantly. Darcy near unable to prevent that almost shark-ish smile that flickers briefly upon his lips as the gum-chewing teen presented himself in all his pouting, angsty glory. That faint twitch of Risque's lip was hardly unobserved. Darcy so densely aware off his lover and her every movement. The man near trained to respond to the slightest of display of displeasure upon her features. This boy displeased her and yet he had anticipated just as much. Max, oblivious to the very glory of the woman he stood in the presence off, continued to seal his own fate with each lazy, snarky word. As if he hardly knew to whom he spoke. As if he was worthy to stand within Risque's very gaze let alone have her attention. Wretch. His death would be a pleasure. Darcy;s features, for now, gave away little of that impending violence before ordering the boy to retrieve that cat.

His mismatched eyes hardly wavered from Max's retreating form, at least not until those near darkly uttered words from beside him saw his gaze shifted to his mistress once more. Her very words laced with a hidden poison he was all to aware off. Risque so having found displeasure in those words he had uttered to Max. A foolish misstep on his own part. One he would not allow again and yet hurried to rectify all the same as his head offered that age-old apologetic dip so laced with that subtle submission in turn.

"Max won't live long enough to even tink on dem words, Darlin'. I just needed to git 'im down dare."

It was true, after all, Max would not live long enough to consider Risque and her cats beyond this very evening, let alone spread any tales of it. Darcy determined to see to that. Risque's sudden hiss in regards to those teenagers prompted that low murmur of agreement from within himself. Darcy as entirely tired of Cobain and his moping as the rest of that vampiric staff. Tetradore had been bad enough as a teenager. Cobain, so eternally trapped in that hormonal body, was nothing short of a vile irritation. The boy constantly believing someone cared about his bitching and moaning. The mere thought of him prompting a near bad taste to Darcy's mouth as his attention returned to max and that impending show. How very satisfying those screams were as they pierced the night air, Max thrown like a rag doll by the sheer force of that machine cat. Darcy hardly inclined to find it difficult to control s much as he found it was a significant drain upon his powers. Especially to command it within battle. The vampire straining to keep its movements cat-like, to have it embrace that feline fantasy he knew his mistress adored while keeping its vampiric prey at bay. His mind commanding each and every bolt and screw and piston within that machines frame. His power extended far beyond anything he had ever asked of it before and yet Risques presence alone so provided that incentive. He would not fail her. He never did.

The excitement within that Vampiric Queen was near palpable. Those predatory senses within himself responding readily to her own fervour. The fresh scent of blood within that air as the Machine toyed with its victim only furthering those near fiendish thoughts. Risque all but taunting the unfortunate boy as his cries for help fell upon deaf ears. Darcy's own hunger uncoiled like a veritable serpent. The desire to bite, to see something bleed, to feel that very blood upon his tongue only increasing those near rabid desires in that moment- those veritable wants so adding to his strength and fueling that Cat all the more. Darcy incapable of preventing himself from feeding from Risque's own delight in that carnage below. How rare it was to see her so....delighted. How he relished it. Adored it. His own sickened mind so taking that satisfaction in her pleasure from that bloodied display below. What he would not do for her! Darcy, in those final moments, pressing his very powers far further than ever before to do as she desired and send that boy to his death. Risque so goading him onward, her hand gripping tightly at his arm. Darcy relishing in her touch, her attention, her excitement as that Cat all but paraded its kill and those grinding gears whirled into life before throwing his body down its 'throat' to blend that vampire into a mixture of meaty mince, sinew and bloodied bits that sprayed in every direction. That laughter fell from his Mistress then, that sound as rich and glorious and arousing as that gore itself. Darcy unable to prevent that sickening satisfaction he took in her delight and her approval. Even as his very strength so began to wane, that faint sheen of sweat clinging to his figure as his hands more firmly gripped that steel railing to hold himself upward. That hunger beginning to gnaw at him furiously then. Risque's very praise so slipping into a perfectly poised goading. That smile never fading from her lips. His lover seeking to play a new game it seemed.

"Naaw, I'm fine. Take more den dat to knock me out."

He offered those words with a near laconic ease. That southern drawl as thick as always. Darcy attempting to hide that exhaustion like a rabbit that hid its wounds from a wolf. The man so loathing to be forced into that position of....prey. Darcy vehemently attempting to appear far stronger then he was in that moment as Risque seemed to chuckle at some thought within her own mind, her hands gripping that rail more powerfully as darcy's gaze shifted to her own once more. That very exchange in those moments near....wordless. She knew. How readily he near curled within himself like a wounded cat with bristling fur, incapable of that escape and yet...daring to warn all the same, his eyes hardly leaving her own as his tongue toyed with his left fang in an effort to appear contemplative rather then calculating in that all to precarious moment. Darcy so choosing words then, as if attempting to break her from that very reverie. She was like a vulture circling above. How readily he could feel her energy and yet he so attempted not to acknowledge it all at once. His effort to shift casually sideways bringing him but a little further out of her reach as he leaned more heavily on the rail. Risque musing over forcing those new recruits to enjoy that taste of vampiric flesh. Darcy himself hardly fond of it and yet he cared little for the suffering of others.

"It'll do 'em good."

He agreed simply, watching as those cats began to feast on what remained of Max below. His words remained...easy, his eyes ever watchful all the same as he regarded his Mistress once more. Risque, for now, seeming to have put that more dangerous need for domination over him once more to the side and yet he was hardly fool enough to believe it gone entirely. Even as she offered that rare praise. Darcy, after all those years, hardly immune to being told he had satisfied her. His lips tugging upward into a truly rare, genuine smile. That look distinctly short lived. Her very next words, so uttered in the guise of praise were all but laced with that barb all the same. His lover so effortlessly calling him out upon that very exertion. She shifted towards him then. Her slender, femanine form near hypnotic in its grace beneath that moonlight as she faced him. That southern cowboy well and truly caught between her claws now. The man choosing to attempt to sidestep that very trap and so comment instead upon that blood that marked her otherwise perfect figure. As if he might distract her thoughts and remove that very gleam of anticipation from her eyes. Darcy, this time, perhaps in his exhaustion, miscalculating her own swiftness. His hand lifted easily upward. That action surprisingly gentle agianst the backdrop of carnage that had existed before, that blood easily wiped from her with that gentle caress before he withdrew his hand- or attempted too. Risque's own hand struck like a viper to seize his wrist. Darcy so lacking any of that strength to fight her. His free hand gripped more firmly at that railing if only to keep himself standing. That predator within himself rallying within that depths of his depraved soul in readiness for some second strike from his lover. His eyes so hardly left her own now and yet those very riotiouts emotions remained concealed. For now. Risque leaning forward then with that very taunt.

"Not da whole war, but at da right time, in da right place, I tink it can serve it's purpose."

He was neither agreeing or disagreeing, neither acknowledging his own exhaustion or dismissing it, his own words a near sneakily chosen middle ground that afforded her neither submission nor defiance. Those words so carefully chosen to be the least combative and displeasing to her. How well that cowboy knew that game. Darcy attempting to appear as if he had afforded her some yield without truly doing so. That very action a rather distinct gamble in his current state. No part of him, here and now, truly capable of fighting agianst her. She had already won and yet how far she intended to force that victory remained to be seen. She drew his wrist upward then, Darcy near anticipating that pierce of her pointed teeth to offer a matching brand to that near-healed mark upon his neck. Her lips merely lingered though, that soft touch...appealing, her whispered voice near tickling that flesh. Darcy near fixated upon her alone in those moments as she hummed that cryptic insistence she intended to try something new tomorrow, something that required his true strength. That curiosity turning within him then.

"As yar wish."

Those further questions tugged at his mind and yet, for now, he merely allowed them to fall to the wayside. His lover rarely approved of question. She would reveal her plans when she saw fit and not a moment before. His job merely to accept them. Her gaze found his own once more, her grip upon him as firm as those silver manacles within her office he had no desire to ever revisit. That unspoken demand for submission hardly lost upon him. Risque determined to force it off him because she could. That press of her lips to his wrist in that sultry, heated kiss so shattering those very threads of debate within himself. How glorious her touch was, how badly he desired even more of it! Darcy so entirely at her....mercy when it came to his desire for her. The vampire allowed that wrist she held to fall slack, his eyes averting obediently from her own then in that distinctly clear submission to her. That very act that she desired even despite that disdain that turned within him at that very act. How he loathed to give up that control, Darcy nothing but the very creature she had designed him to be, one that sought that very dominance as much as she in turn and yet for her and her alone- he was willing to yield. That very kiss near bringing a shudder to his spine, a want he could hardly deny. How easily she commanded him when that desire ran thicly within his veins and he could barely stand to act upon it.

She releases him suddenly. That vampiric Queen seeming to consider him once more before uttering what her desires might be if he were human. Darcy distinctly assured he valued his vampirism in that moment and yet he said little off it. The man instead inclined to lift his fingers to his lips and taste of tht very blood Max had left behind. Darcy well practised enough to taste those subtle differences. Someone.....had been stealing from them. Max, it seemed, having fed from something other then what Darcy had provided. His very utterance of that fact prompting Risque's own snarl once more before she insisted she disliked his tone, his insolence and his thievery. His mistress only sorry there hadn't been enough left to feed to the others as a reminder of what happened at her displeasure. Darcy commenting upon the fellows current likeness to mince meat. Risque seeming to take delight in that very comparison along with the notion her felines would enjoy that hunt for scraps for a time.

"Da boy was a fool. To young, to stupid ta know who he stood before. He was worth nothin. I'll make sure da others know dat he died for dat disrespect."

It would not do to have those new recruits believe, for even a moment, that Risque could be anything short of respected in the highest instance. Max's death sure to send a veritable message. A point Darcy intended to drive home as Risque suddenly plucked that gum from the floor, his own features curling in distaste.

"I ain't niether, it ain't food an all it does it get stuck in yar fangs."

It was falsified food and nothing more, he was sure of it. Darcy musing little upon that idea of gum and its uses before his gaze followed her own to the sky above and the impending storm so beginning to roll in. That air heavy with that scent of static and rain. Risque shifted toward him once more with that utterance she had not intended on sharing, his attention once more upon her as she queried his hunger and the notion he had pleased her tonight all the same.

"Yes'm i'm 'ungry."

There was no point in denying something so plainly true. Her command to stay put prompting that nod from him. Darcy inclined to stay exactly where she had demanded he stay like a well trained hound. His gaze turned back to that parking lot below to watch those cats before Risque returned a short time later with that bound and gagged human man. Darcy merely allowing his glance to pass over him. One of many he had seen before. The stench of fear so thick and cloying within the air. How....appealing. That scent driving at his hunger all the more. Darcy so...forcing himself to remain restrained even despite that firm set of his jaw. Risque veritably dangling that meal before him. Yet how catastrophic it would be to move without her consent. His lovers sudden insistence that man screamed with an accent prompted that look of curiosity from him. Risque coaxing that meal to scream them.

" 'ell, but he does."

That genuine surprise was clear upon the vampiric man's features then. 'Hans' so commanded to silence once more. This one distinctly well trained it seemed. Darcy so attempting, in that moment, to shut off his own breathing. That bloodied scent and promise of a meal tugging violently at his own control. That sudden offer to drink with her prompting his gaze to lift to cut to her own. How rarely he was offered to share a meal with her. To feed as she did. The very nature of their species so ensuring those shared feedings were a decidedly...delicate balance. Vampires, after all, did not share well outside of those mated pairs.He had pleased her tonight then. Perhaps more then he had anticipated. This reward...beyond what he had anticipated. Those desperately dark tendrils of his mind so coiling only tighter and tighter around her, his lover, whom offered him such a gift here and now! Darcy so clinging to those fading threads of control as his hand gestured to 'Hans' once more.

"Ladies first."

How much effort that very offer took when he desired nothing more but to ravage that fellow apart. Darcy waiting only so long as it took Risque's fangs to find that man's neck- that very place by far the most satisfying to bite- Darcy left with those lesser choice and yet he had anticipated as much. The last of his energy readily saw that blur of speed brought him to the tourists side, Hans' wrist seized suddenly and lifted to his own lips. Darcy biting down in a near hungered frenzy, the force of that very bite near severing that man's hand entirely beneath the cut and slice of his wicked doubled fangs. He was near oblivious to his victims screams in that moment. That heated blood so burning agianst his lips and tongue all the he desired. Darcy swallowing that liquid in great gulps in a fevered need to sait that hunger and replenish his own strength.

We are rough men and used to rough ways.