I am what she made me
her words are spiderwebs inside my head

That blood would never be as satisfying as it would from an open vein. That crimson liquid within the glass was still warm in the least. That alone made it passable and yet warm blood was nothing like hot, fresh blood. It had been days since he had anyone fresh and yet Risque had made it clear that their dwindling patronage was hardly to be made a meal off. His Beloved's constant fear of disease, even if her immortal perfection could hardly be afflicted by it, had further coaxed the vampire woman in warning Darcy away from engaging with whatever sickly looking beings graced their bar. Risque having come to decide they were all sickly. How very....testy those dwindling blood supplies were prone to make a man. That glass, in the very least, would do for now. Darcy downed that drink in barely more than a few gulps. His body craved more of it, it always did. Darcy so rarely ever satisfied and yet that would take the edge off for a little while at least. His fangs clinked softly agianst the glass, Darcy careful not to bite down upon the fragile surface and yet that desire to bite came hand in hand with that taste. The vampire was forced to near...concentrate to prevent himself shattering that glass agianst his own lips. That momentary satisfaction to be found in a meal, however, allowed his mind to wander towards other matters.

Darcy's mismatched gaze shifted back toward Tetradore. The other man, despite his diligent efforts to fixate upon the television screen, was far more aware of him than he pretended. Good. Let him be wary. Let him remember just how it felt to have his fangs tear into his flesh. Tetradore had deserved it that night. The little wretch had been so far out of line it was almost laughable and yet- for all Tetradore's....argumentative streak and stubborn, seemingly unbreakable will- he was hardly a fucking fool. Not foolish enough to rob Risque of her meal and her game right in front of her as he had done that night- and for seemingly no reason at all. Tetradore had hardly known that Fae- that had been clear enough and yet for some reason the Panther had shown him....mercy. Tetradore had seen Risque kill a million times before. He had given up begging for her to leave them be when he was a child. Tetradore, somewhere within his teenage years, having resigned himself to merely stoically watching them die from the sidelines like the fucking pet he was supposed to be. Under Risques command he had killed them before- or assisted her in doing so. Yet never in his goddamn life had tetradore willingly killed an innocent being for seemingly no reason at all and of his own decision. Had he simply been trying to rob Risque of the pleasure? Surely he had known the punishment for such an act would hardly be worth it? Risque had been far too taken by outrage at her useless pet that night to consider those things as Darcy had. The Southern simply unwilling to let that change in character go. Tetradore had killed that Fae for reasons far beyond the obvious- of that Darcy was certain. The cunning vampire so hardly willing to let it go. Not tonight. Not when Tetradore had chosen to linger in his garage.

That question was all but snapped from his lips. Darcy hardly elaborated upon it, as if simply anticipating Tetradore to have understood that complex tangle of thought that turned within his own mind in some effort to tease out the reasons behind the boy's actions. That near deadpan response Darcy was rewarded with coaxed the faintest of growls of irritation to the back of his throat before that Southern drawl parted his lips again. Tetradore, this time, given no excuse of misunderstanding as Darcy's gaze remained upon him. The WerePanther, for his part, seemed near determined to stare at that commercial for fucking toothpaste. As if not offering the vampire his gaze might somehow appease the situation- and this damn fool was supposed to be an Alpha? That threat to break Tetradore's shoulders if he shrugged them, however, seemed to prompt at least some sort of reaction from in the Were. Darcy entirely content to make good on that very promise if need be. He'd grown sick of Tetradore's bitchy little attitude years ago. The sullen teenage had become an equally sullen man. How....unfortunate. Tetradore, in the least, knew better than to press his patience tonight it seemed, the other man answering far quicker then Darcy had anticipated. His words almost blunt as he insisted the Fae had 'looked at him funny'. Darcy's own snort of derision left him then.

"People 'ave been lookin' at yar dumb ass funny since yar was sixteen years old. I ain't believe far a 'ucking minute dat yar only jus noticed dat. Even if dat Fae did look at yar like dat yar ain't stupid enough ta do what yar did fo no damn reason."

Maybe Tetradore simply had desired to piss Risque off and yet- Tetradore had been punished enough by their Beloved mistress over the years to know that such a crime was simply not...worth it. Understanding those very....patterns in behaviour was near what Darcy did best. He had survived longer in Risque's coven then any other being ever had. People, after all, were just like playing cards. He simply needed to work out their pattern- then predict them. Tetradore had broken his pattern that night. Darcy's cunning mind simply refused to let it go as Tetradore's attention turned back to the television. The Were was silent for several long moments before adding that near afterthought that Risque had looked at the Fae funny too. Whatever biting words had been upon Darcy's tongue were near quick to die. Tetradore had noticed it too then. Risque had been.....off with that Fae. She had been oddly...fascinated by him. The Fae had hardly been unattractive, Darcy supposed and yet still the man would hardly have been pulling women left, right and center either. Darcy's tongue shifted between his lips to toy near contemplatively with the tip of his left fang. How oblivious he was, in the moment, to the way in which Tetradore so effortlessly....fed into a one type of game. One that had so eternally been Darcy's own weakness. That paranoia over his lover and her affections so eternally gnawing at Darcy's own mind.

"She did."

Those very words were near...reluctantly uttered and yet Darcy could hardly deny the truth of it. If Tetradore had seen the way Risque looked at that fae then Darcy had hardly merely imagined it. There had been something about him. Something more than simply the scent of his blood.

"She acted like she fuckin' knew 'im. Talkin' 'er French at 'im. She called 'im 'er friend. Did yar 'ear dat? She ain't keep in contact wit no one from dat France place o'er's."

Those very words were near musings muttered aloud as Darcy's gaze shifted away from the other man to eye that half-finished motorcycle once more, his tongue continuing to toy with his fang in contemplation before his gaze shifted to the man beside him near warily once more.

"Yar wit 'er sometimes when i ain't. Did she know dat fae? Is she talkin' to other men when I ain't around? Dun yar go lyin at me now, Tetty-Bear."

Darcy

i'm in love with the madness