How fickle his beloved could be. How even the slightest lift of her brow or quirk of her lip could betray so very much of the darkened thoughts that turned within the confines of her ever sharpened mind. His boxer shorts, tonight it seemed, had ensnared the depths of her attention and yet whether or not they pleased her remained to be seen. Risque, as always, giving away so little of the truth of the thoughts that clouded her mind. Darcy instead merely privy to the notion that she had considered something of his attire. The vampiric cowboy forced to wait until the moment of her choosing to reveal just what those considerations might be. It was that very comment upon luck, however, that seemed to coax from his lover those hidden inclinations. Her near melodic voice so offering the assurance that while she understood just how his own mind worked when it came to the manner of gambling and those cards games he so expertly played- she did not understand his choice in cacti and horses printed upon his undergarments. Darcy's own mismatched gaze shifted but briefly away from his lover then to eye those shorts once more. Both vampires, in that moment, silently staring at his choice of attire as if each so strove to understand something of that choice before Darcy's gaze lifted once more. That southern drawl uttered with simple honesty then as his shoulders rose in a loose, casual shrug.

"I jus like 'em. Dun you?"

There was, it seemed, no great mystery surrounding that choice of attire. Darcy content to admit the truth of them in that precarious moment. The man simply enjoyed that pattern and those colours- far brighter and more vibrant than anything else he owned. That single query as to whether or not his own mate took any pleasure in them however seemed to linger near heavily within the air. It would not do, after all, to wear anything Risque disapproved of. No matter how rarely seen. Darcy, as always, more then willing to cast aside his preferences for her own. The vampire so attentively studying his mistress once more for even the vaguest hint of disapproval before his attention returned that...cream she seemed so determined to have him apply. Women. That obedience however so hardly failed him now. Darcy, as always, moved to do as commanded of him at that moment and apply the cream as she had shown him. The vampire so failing to understand just how she believed it might improve his appearance and yet he had long ago learned his mate was a woman better obeyed in even the smallest of things. That conversation shifted with ease then to just which of those nightly programs Risque might prefer to watch. The Game of Thrones with its political intrigue or the show about the Models in which those women fought a different sort of political battle. One with regrettably less violence and yet- even Darcy was willing to admit those models were inclined to the same deviousness as the beings of Westeros- even f for an arguably lesser crown.

Risque seemed to contemplate that idea for several moments more before insisting she preferred those models tonight. Darcy, in turn, content enough in that very decision if only because she so permitted him to read those magazines of his choosing- provided he afforded her his undivided attention each time she chose to comment upon an outfit or a woman in particular. That show, mindless though it was inclined to be, so seeming to coax a veritable piece between the often volatile vampiric pair. Risque's insistence that she had grown tired of Jon Snow was met with Darcy's own agreement. The Southern vampire far more inclined to find favour in Daenerys all the same. The girl with her dragons so often seemed to achieve far more than most in that campaign. That very choice, however, seemed to prompt that flicker of displeasure to his own lovers features. Risque content to insist she merely 'appeared' as such. The vampiric Queen hardly chose to elaborate as she idly contemplated the contents of her wine glass once more. Darcy momentarily left to consider those words before his own features frowned. His lover has always possessed a distinct....gift for those matters of politics. Risque, more often than not, capable of understanding the motivations of those characters far before Darcy himself. The vampiric Queen, more than once, having guessed at the plot twist of political undercurrent well before the show revealed it. Her ability to....understand the motivations of others far beyond his own and yet how readily.....fascinating it was to watch her do as such. Darcy remained entirely assured Risque would have succeeded well in politics had she chosen to pursue it. The vampire inquiring after her own choice in favoured character then.

"Who da ya like den? "

How readily he suspected he knew that answer already and yet he remained near decidedly...intrigued to hear of his lovers reasoning all the same. Risque stepped suddenly away from the counter then, the towel that had covered her figure dropped smoothly from it, her body so entirely on display as Darcy's gaze shifted near instantly to it. Her every movement was graceful, each curve and swell of her figure so perfectly placed and gloriously defined. Her body so simply.....perfection in every form. How eagerly that want within his own figure stirred once more. Darcy unable to prevent that instinctive desire that ensnared him so potently and coaxed a dull ache to his own loins at merely the sight of her. Risque, in that moment, near oblivious to his own wanting gaze as she strode into her wardrobe. How desperately he desired to see that silken slip or patterned lingerie- Darcy having learned over time just which outfits might permit his attention and affection upon her. Risque so often content to display her own desires for his attention in those outfits she chose. Darcy simply expected to understand just when and how she desired her needs be met. Sex, after all, was on her terms alone. Always. The emergence of his lover within those kitten pajamas however so quickly dashed but any hope he held for intimacy tonight. That choice in clothing a simple and yet determined signal that she would tolerate nothing of him tonight. Her mood so clearly having been soured by one being or another so far as to become unsalvageable tonight. The vampire forced to swallow a near irritable growl. Damn fools. Ruining his beloved's mood and his own in turn. How readily they would pay for that- if they had not already.

The mention of that wine was perhaps a needed distraction, Darcy's gaze shifted to the bottle she gestured towards before he moved to fill his own glass. The scent alone was nothing short of potent, whatever blood had been mixed with that wine was.....intriguing. That saliva already flooding his mouth in a predatory anticipation. Darcy lifted that glass to his lips, the liquid rushing to bathe his teeth and tongue before coaxing that rumble of satisfaction from within the depths of his chest. The taste was....glorious. Indeed it was near addictive. The vampire so eagerly moved to take another sip, that liquid swirled about on his tongue before he swallowed it eagerly. Just how much he enjoyed that taste surely clear before he asked after it. This, he was sure, was not a wine they had shared before. Darcy made his way toward the bed then, the vampire content to make himself comfortable within it before he lent back agianst the headboard, the wine lifted again to his lips as Risque called out from the other room. French wine- mixed with Fae blood. Hmmm. That explained that near addictive taste then. He had tasted pure Fae blood only a few times within his life- that untainted lifeforce nothing short of incomparable, if not nearly impossible to source. This, even mixed with that wine, was no less delectable. Just where Risque had managed to source it, let alone what she had paid for it, were momentarily cast to the back of his mind. How she disliked his questioning the cost of things. Her mood was not nearly improved enough for him to do so tonight. Besides, he was inclined to admit he favoured that taste.

"We should 'ave it more often. I like it."

How well he had already fed tonight and yet how eager his body was for that taste. That wine, almost, making up for that lack of his lovers affections tonight as Risque made her way back into that room to pour more of the wine for herself before joining him within the bed, her glass perched precariously upon the dark stained wood of her side table beside her chosen book and a letter penned within French that she had taken to working upon within the evenings. Darcy content to nod toward it now.

"Yar been workin' on dat for a bit now. What's it 'bout?"

Whether or not she might have chosen to share those details with him remained to be seen. Darcy was curious about that latter all the same. His mate content to pen letters in her own hand only for those matters she deemed worthy of her attention. Darcy's gaze shifted toward that television then as that show began, his attention lingering on several of those women before he reached for his phone. The man content to scroll through that evening news before the click of Riques tongue in disapproval instantly drew his gaze upward once more. His mate lamenting that trend that seemed to have ensnared the fashion world of late- women with short hair. Darcy, in this, entirely content to agree. Women were supposed to have long hair. He was certain. No woman within his day would have been caught dead with a man's haircut. After all, it had been a sign of shame within his own time.

"Short 'air dun suit a woman. It ain't right."

He uttered that agreement readily as Risque moved to sit cross-legged beside him, her words shifting to those French lyrics he hardly understood as she uttered further disapproval. That show seemed to readily escalate then as competition became only more fierce and several women were reduced to tears over the actions of others. Darcy, attentive as always, content to utter his agreement each time his attention was required.The vampire content to comment upon at least two outfits in turn that he hardly deemed flattering to the women who wore them. One girl, in particular, seemed to fail at both wearing that dress and posing with the male model who had been chosen as the task for the women to complete that evening. Her actions with him were...awkward, clumsy and lacked any intimacy at all. Was it truly so hard to pretend? Risque's insistence that the girl would have been incapable of fucking anything readily coaxed that simper to his own lips, a chuckle rising within his throat as his mate became only further engaged in that program and his own attention shifted back to the daily news. Princess took that moment to leap up and onto the foot of the bed. The Lynx spitting her fury at the ginger cat from before. The domestic feline wisely kept its distance from the far larger female as she sought to guard the end of that bed as Darcy had so insisted she do. Risque, for now, so hardly uttering a word of it. The vampire satisfied with his own felines protective aggression- just as he had desired. Princess, surely, enough of a deterrent to keep those other cats at bay. Darcy inclined to find disdain in near any feline Risque chose to allow on that bed save for his own. Princess alone deemed tolerable if only for the task she performed. That ginger tom, he was certain, plotted some sort of revenge.

His own attention shifted back to that website then, his gaze narrowed upon one picture in particular. He had seen hundres of photos of that royal couple, they were fucking everywhere and yet, this time, it was another being in that picture with the vampire Prince that drew his attention. Crusnik. That was....a new word. Darcy took several moments then to research that very thing. How often had Risque told him that their species stood at the pinnacle of creation? Vampires held no natural predators. Hunters alone were the only beings willing to stand against them and yet.....if such a thing as a Crusnik existed, as it seemed it did, the vampire race held one true enemy. One creature that stood above them. A vampire- who hunted vampires. Darcy's own gaze narrowed further. A ready disdain content to sit like bile within the back of his throat for such a creature. A fucking abonination is what it was. Rarer then Fae that website said. A race hunted to near extinction by other vampire covens and yet one whose very bite could take down even the most powerful vampire if given the chance. What an...intriguing creature. That phone was shifted towards Risque then, his mate quick to give up that show to lean towards him as he gestured toward that picture. Risque, after all, was far older than himself. She held a far greater knowledge and experience of their own kind. Surely if such a creature as this existed she would know of it. Perhaps she had even encountered one. Darcy so hardly disappointed with the knowledge she offered. Risque, as he had suspected, had indeed encountered such a creature before- even if only once. They were not mere fairytale then. Darcy inclined to find himself both curious and...disgusted at such a creature. Vampire blood was shared between their kind only in those intimate moments. To survive off it completely, to hunt for it entirely was...unheard of. The cowboy inclined to find he agreed with his mates judgement. Her sudden declaration that she might enjoy having such a creature for a pet however, readily prompted Darcy's own features to frown.

How...varied his mates taste in pets could be. Darcy inclined to argue such a creature would hardly make a good pet, after all, he could not be controlled like those cats and yet- if what his research had said was true- if a Crusnik truly could take down a vampire with its venom then having one for a pet would not be a foolish notion. Indeed, such a creature was entirely capable of winning a war for them. Hmmm. Perhaps such a thought was not merely wishful thinking on Risque's part and yet those obvious problems still persisted. Caging a Crusnik would prove difficult. With vampiric strength he could break most of their enclosures. Something heavily silvered would be required. The issue of its bite also remained. One bite, after all, was all it would take to down any vampire handling it. Then there was the matter of feeding it- although they were in no short supply of idiots who would make a meal for it. Darcy's fingers taped idly agianst the quilt for several moments in a clear contemplation. That ever sharp mind already formulating a plan. His gaze shifted abruptly to his Mistress once more.

"I reckon I could catch 'im for ya. If yar wantin'. He's a musician. All we need ta do is set up a meetin wit 'im, pretend we want 'im to play at da bar. Course, if 'e's 'alf smart 'e won't meet wit your or I. Reckon 'e avoids other vamps mostly. We 'ave 'im meet wit 'Arley, get 'er ta sweet talk 'im, den shoot 'im up wit a sedative. Only take one injection. Den we get some o da boys ta bring 'im back 'ere, cut 'is fangs out while 'e still under. Da fang's will grow back o'course, but it'll take a few weeks. Give us some time ta muzzle train 'im, teach 'im 'e gets food only when we give it, lean 'im some obedience. Can bite all he likes for dem first few weeks, ain't do 'im no good wit no fangs. By da time day grow back 'e should be muzzle trained, 'ungry and easy enough to work with after we knocked 'im round a bit."

How easily he spoke of that other being as if 'Arlo' was no more than a mere dog that could be trained just like any other animal. Darcy content to speak of the other vampire as if he was nothing more then just that. That plan was simple enough- so provided, of course, no other outside...influences affected it. In the very least, if the Crusnik proved untrainable, they could simply do away with him. One less predator in the world was hardly anything to bemoan the loss off. Risque's own gaze shifted toward the other man in that photo then, her eyes seeming to linger upon that Italian Prince for perhaps just a moment to long. That look alone sparking a flare of....irritation within the southern vampire. That jealousy within him knowing truly few bounds as he insisted that creature in the photograph was gay. Risque near quick to assure him that Prince was an Incubus, or so the whispers said. Sexual orientation so evidently mattered little to such a being- not when they existed in a constant state of readiness and possessed a bite that so clearly....appealed. Risque's words seemed to trail off in a fashion almost lustful as she eyed that picture once more. Darcy, in turn, offers a near irritable snort.

"E's not dat good lookin'. Besides, look at dem pissy little fangs. Probably ain't da only ting dats little....."

How readily a near bitter edge found those grumbled words. Darcy clearly content to find irritation in Risques evident curiosity of that supposed incubus. His Mistress, in that moment, seemed to pay little heed as she eyed the Prince and his Fae husband- a truly unique pair even to Darcy's own mind. A Fae that old would have....exceptional blood. Even Darcy inclined to admit he could see the sense in that marriage. That, after all, was surely why the vampire had married him to begin with. Any notion of love an utterly foolish one. Risque's hand enclosed suddenly about his wrist then. Hi beloved jerking his arm and that phone in turn closer toward her as she eyed that picture in a fashion near predatory. Darcy, in turn, merely watching on in a momentarily silent intrigue. Surely she didn't find that fucking Fae attractive too, did she? Any further thought on that very topic was momentarily distracted by that feeling of being watched. Darcy's gaze shifted abruptly that the ginger tom cat whom lingered across the room, its eyes near boring into the vampires own as Darcy's lips lifted in a hiss of disdain once more. His very insistence that cat was eyeing him seemed to ensnare Risques attention as she released his hand abruptly, her own hypnotic gaze falling upon the feline before that amusement seemed to find her. Those teasing words hardly appealing to the cowboy and yet he had come to expect little else from his lover. Risque, as always, seemed to find a near perverse delight in his discomfort. He was more the fool for allowing her to see it.

"I ain't spooked by no fuckin' cat, Darlin."

That ginger tom so silently obeyed the hidden command it was given as it rose from its place to glide across the floor and leap up onto the bed, settling itself upon Risques lap- only to purr beneath her touch as the vampiric Queen only further sought to goad her mate with both the animals presence- and her baited words. Her fangs flashed toward him then as she took another sip of her wine, her fingers lost within that ginger fur as she sought to have him claim he feared that creature. How very loaded those words. How precariously placed and daringly offered. Risque so silently seeking the admittance of a weakness in that ever dangerous game they played. Darcy, in that moment, near assured he could feel the cold touch of that chain that lay at his neck in an ever present reminder of just where he belonged- even if his mistress had become his mate. Princess stirred readily beside him then. Her own growl rising within that silence that persisted. The Lynx, perhaps, responding to her Master even without those clear orders as the fur upon her figure rose and puffed and she stalked ever closer to that ginger tom, her figure slinking agianst Darcy's own. A veritable battle seemed mere moments away as both cats so seemed to eye one another with dangerous discord and lashing tails. Darcy allowed his own gaze to lift once more, his own fingers daring to extend ever so slightly to brush through his own pet's thick fur, the Lynx hissing again. That vocalisation, this time, prompted that ginger tom to lower itself, its own ear flattening as it hissed in return. Darcy allowed the faintest quirk of his lip.

"Is dat yar chosen champion den, Darlin? Dat kittypet? I dun know if I like 'is chances. I reckon he's looks.....scared."

How very daring that game he suggested. That challenge was as distinctly subtle as her own efforts to coax that admittance of fear from him. Darcy, it seemed, willing to put his pet agianst her own. The vampire was already assured of that victory. His own Lynx, after all, was more than twice the size of that ginger tom and far more aggressive. Risques pet near destined to lose and yet.....was it not better to change that game upon her? To meet her game with his own rather than accept defeat so willingly? It would be decidedly...defiant to refuse to admit to that fear of her feline- real or imagined. Yet too it would be distinctly poor form to admit weakness to her at all. Darcy so instead content to distract her with a new game. One equally as daring. Darcy so seeming to....enjoy the....fun of watching those cats hiss and puff in that near teasing...game he played with his lover. That thin layer of tension between the animals was suddenly broken by Risques words, her sentence halted before completion at the sudden declaration that one of those male models upon the television looked like Tetradore. How that very name alone was near akin to a red flag within the vampires eyes.

Darcy's gaze cut abruptly sideways. Those irritable felines forgotten as he eyed that very being. The cowboy loath to admit that the man did bare some resemblence that that fucking pathetic panther his mate would not rid herself off no matter how he displeased her. Tetradore the single and only point of continued.....contention within their own relationship. The emerald eyed man the one and only thing they ever seemed to truly.....fight over. How Risque refused to yield that panther any less then Darcy refused to accept his presence nor tolerate his existence. The pair of men at a near constant odds with one another- much to Risques own amusement. Those very words, when they came, near uttered on a growl.

"Yar, looks a bit like 'im."

That, it seemed, was the most Darcy was willing to admit. Those words were nothing short of begrudging even despite that unfailing politeness. His gaze continued to linger upon the screen, watching as that model moved from one woman to the next with an easy swagger. Those women near falling over themselves to try and win his attention. This, it seemed, at last coaxing some amusement to Darcy's features. The vampire reaching for that wine again.

"Maybe dat ain't much like Tet. Ain't never yet seen Tetradore manage to talk to a woman. Boy's fuckin' scared of 'em. He ain't got no skill wit words dats for sure."

We are rough men and used to rough ways.