If there was any one trait that the Were-King was known for, it was his profound passion for those sleek speedy automobiles that occupied the Ark's renovated garage. Those brands he chose were known for the sheer power they'd brought to the car world, from those sleek rims to the carefully engineered aerodynamics of the chassis, Tetradore took an interest in only the very best of those vehicles, his preferences decidedly selective. That old, black car he was presented with, however, fell drastically short of the Alpha's standards and yet, he was unsurprised that this did not perturb Askaree in the slightest. After all, most cars failed to intrigue the man and Askaree had made it abundantly clear that she, in turn, cared particularly little of his own thoughts on any manner. Still, he watched in mute indifference as the black mobile device was slid effortlessly back into her pocket, a near mischievous grin blossoming upon her painted lips as she glanced up at him with a smugness that failed to be truly justified. The words that left her lips, that insult, was enough to prompt an audible snort from Tetradore's nose.

"You don't know shit about cars if you think whatever is under that hood can beat one of my sportscars." His head shook ever so slightly, the man entirely caught off guard by Askaree's blatantly egotistical and utterly delusional beliefs - that respect she'd once garnered from the Were-King so quickly evaporating with her comparison of those powerful machines he housed to a fucking scooter. "Let me tell you something about your 1967 Shelby, Askaree. That piece of shit is an inline rear wheel drive, modern engines are transverse mounted front wheel drives - you'd have to completely redo the powertrain control system and all the electrical the car looks for to control everything from your fuel injection to your fucking air conditioner and even if this douche bag put in the effort to do that, that car has higher ground clearance, weighs about a thousand pounds more, and has shittier aerodynamics the any one of my....Vespas...so no matter what engine you put in that junk, I will still beat you to the finish line every single time."

The Alpha might have been willing to overlook Askaree's invasion into his private quarters, he might have been willing to ignore her demands and her affronts towards himself...but those cars...they were the singular passion that Tetradore had allowed himself and, in turn, the one thing he was fiercely protective of. His interest in assisting with the theft of that car, however, was decreasing with every syllable that left the reptilian woman's lips. Her admittance, albeit in a roundabout colorful manner, that the owner of this particular wagon was none other than the Godfather of the Italian Mafia. "You want me....to help you steal the car from the Italian Mafia. Are you fucking insane? Why would I start a fucking turf war for you?" Oh, he knew well of the Mafia, the balance between those Western powers a distinctly delicate thing and one he had little intention of upsetting without a very good reason. It was her inquiry of weather or not they were friends that had Tetradore provide her with little more than an unimpressed glare. Her query to borrow one of his 'vespas', as she'd taken to calling it, was met with an immediate decline. After all, if she couldn't at least hold some ounce of an appreciation for those vehicles, he saw little reason why she should so much as lay a finger upon them.

That offer to teleport her was, perhaps, the extent of what he was willing to provide. That street was one he knew well, the Alpha simply choosing to ignore her name calling...yet again, at least, until she proclaimed him a 'dickhead'. "Yeah, well, you weren't being such a fucking self-righteous bitch last time either." He muttered, stooping to her level, as he held out his hand for her, that single touch was all he needed and then he could rid himself of her and her idiotic belief that some expensive classic car could take on his treasured Lamborghinis.