Risque rose a slender perfectly arched manicured brow as the Belgium vampire mentioned that his wife enjoyed a little bloodshed when it came to romance. Ah, no ordinary fairy indeed. One did not live centuries without a little blood on their hands and yet it took a special sort of being to truly enjoy it. Risque was all too aware of that revealing look upon Quinton's features, a glimpse of fang that purposefully said that he enjoyed more than a little bloodshed. An all too knowing glance was shared between the pair. A pinprick of fascination sought to bloom within her pale blue-tinged, apathetic eyes for a moment, willing to accept that there was more to the man who had wandered off the streets of the west and into her bar. Interesting. "It is healthy for a strong relationship to be with someone whose appetites align with your own." She contemplated out loud and yet it was truthful all the same. "Perhaps it could be true in that.... Well-known saying that those who slay together stay together. I believe that's how it goes." even despite that clearly not being the common saying. In fact, she might have heard it in a song within her very bar... and simply forgotten where she heard it. But for what it was, it was honest for herself and Darcy as well.

The vampire pair's conversation seemed to shift again. Such topics were a territory that she knew to avoid and yet they traversed down that treacherous path all the same. That tête-à-tête should have been guided down a clear other course and Risque seemed unable to prevent it like an unavoidable trajectory course. Thoughts that burrowed so deeply within her own mind that she could no longer ignore had pushed closer to the surface of her mind than ever before. But Risque was like moving an entire mountain, only slowly eroding to change with time against the consistent hellish winds around her, or drastically altered all at once. There was no in-between for the damned queen. There was no in-between.

Of all the knowledge that Risque had at her disposal. Subjects on love, mates, and matters of the soul had once been laughable to her. It went against her very instinct, or so she thought. But why was it now that such thoughts seem to spark what she could only declare as her ire? Was it even that? It was to no surprise that a nerve she hadn't known existed was exposed by a stranger whom she had just met and somehow he seemed to know exactly where to poke. Just as if he could see what others could not. She had to solve this.... Somehow. Yet she wasn't even sure if it could be solved. Of course, the dilemma in it paved the way for the rush of denial within her veins. A breeding ground for volatility within the feline Queen.

That set tension only grew and coiled within her body, all while that dainty cup remained in her hand, less than half full of unconsumed dark tea. In but a moment's time, seized in that flash of loss of control, her grip tightened a little too much. That dainty teacup shattered into several small shards after it hit the ground, evidence of a worn resolve and a distinct change within the woman that she hadn't truly embraced. It existed like a fissure of the foundation within her. The parts which Darcy himself had created as he managed to simultaneously fill it too. How annoying that she couldn't maintain that callous exterior with the authority she conducted herself.

Yet how the other vampire hardly bat a single eye nor did that stoicism falter in the wake of it. In fact, he merely stated that she had spilt the tea and then obviously searched for a napkin of sorts as if to... help... while Risque tried to quell her own loss of control in the splattered remains of it. Was that love? A loss of control?

So few things unsettled her, even fewer were enough to get a rise out of her... nothing like the cause and effect of her own emotions when it came to this. Yet how she couldn't help herself as she sought to understand it all the same, by any means.

Yet, how she merely eyed the explosion of offending porcelain shards in brief annoyance. She rarely forgot her own strength. She was distinctly always aware of it. Always knew just how much force to add. Yet a little broken porcelain seemed like a small price to pay than to strike the man. "It does appear to be spilt tea and I found a weakness in the porcelain." That voice stated almost matter of fact, only to further glare at the broken piece that seemed to stare back. So much for tea. It was a shame considering how rarely she indulged in it. Yet it would appear that weakness could be applied to more than just fine china. Such traitorous feelings.

Yet how much internal denial that surely lived in one woman was a feat enough to sink the Titanic.

Quinton's scanning golden gaze searched upward to the balcony again, annoyingly unfettered. She looked up a moment later to see how close to the ledge her mate was nearly hanging off of. He was filled with unspent, unabashed rage from her reaction. For her. His own instinct, it would appear only desired to destroy any being that upset her without question. So very loyal. How that undying loyalty was something she appreciated about her lover.

Yet she hardly wished for him to attack the ancient Belgium vampire on... a mere misstep. It was not worth the risk. Even if people had been slaughtered for less. And how she enjoyed seeing Darcy's brutality at work. His possessive and jealous nature made him quite remarkable when given a target. Yet now was not the time for that. Especially when Quinton had been quite enjoyable company despite it all.

It was fascinating to watch how the other vampire merely blotted away at the spilt tea that coated the countertop with seamless ease as if domesticated to the core and far too much a gentleman to simply allow it to stand. Hardly the likes of what normally frequented Syn at all.

An easy gentle assurance upon his lips that he believed she had a soul. That chosen french term of endearment struck so very strangely. One that buzzed like a bee within her mind. One that was short-lived as he claimed emotion was proof of the soul. He picked up that conversation with such seamless, unfettered ease, hardly put off at all..

The she-devil seemed willing enough to reply with some level of regained wits. How many people claimed the very opposite of what he said? What a strange man. "I have never heard that particular belief before. It is commonly believed that the dead cannot possess a soul at all. Not when the transformation requires a mortal to die before they are reborn. If you believe in souls to begin with. Is it not important to consider that when a being dies and a vampire rises that it is not a soul that takes its place? I have not paid it much thought, admittedly. But what I do know, was that vampirism has liberated me from mortal restraints and every last burden that clung to it. At least this was true for me. Was it not for you as well?" Risque returned, never once truly to consider what happened to her soul of all things. Such a thing seemed almost too religious for comfort. When was the last time she entered a church? The she-devil had abandoned her faith long, long ago and with it.. So did the matters of the soul. "Are you religious, Quinton?" The way that he spoke of the soul, and faith in some divine power of soulmates... surely that's where all of this had come from? She could not help the question that slipped free as if a morbid curiosity settled within her. After it was far better territory than the focus put upon her and such topics that caused..... Far too many uncertainties.

Yet the Belgian gentleman continued on as her feline at her side twitched its tail in agitation that mirrored its master from that way she defended something she did not realize needed defending. Much to Risque's great disdain, the other vampire had a point.

A frown pinched at her perfect features, yet that was hardly anything to consider now and yet her lips parted as if she wished to respond. Why did it matter? He questioned. She didn't have an answer for him, only that it did. She sealed her ruby lips.

Just in time for Risque's staff to seize that moment. They seemed tentative and yet quick to act, scooping up the mess with brooms and a dustpan to pick up the shattered porcelain and wipe away the splattered tea. The scent of cleaner in the air. The mop, however, caused the big cat at her side to pounce on it, fighting to keep it. The battle was short-lived with a sharp but potent 'non' sliced from her lips and saw to the cat returning to an obedient sit even if his eyes still watched that mop leave with clear yearning. Risque hardly did so to make it easier on her staff and more because she was in no mood for disobedience.

In but a moment they were there and gone acting efficiently, quietly, wisely keeping their opinions to themselves for fear of the wrath of their queen with a cautious, averted respectful gaze and careful movements not to draw attention to themselves. A glass of wine appeared in its place. Tea was nice for the moment she could enjoy it. Wine... was decidedly better. Or perhaps only bested by a fresh mark to hunt and sink her fangs into, now that would be even more appealing. Although, all the expensive Bordeaux in the world would not be enough to quell what existed within the she-devil.

Quinton continued on, the first to break the lull after draining the remainder of his teacup into his mouth. It would seem that what occurred was enough to let that conversation die.

There was much to consider. That compliment was clear, as was the finality of the words of that conversation. In the wake of his goodbye, she replied. "Meeting you has been..." She searched for the word in English and yet... settled for the french word instead. "..éclairante.(Illuminating)." The french accent was strong and perfectly uttered in her mother tongue. Yet before she moved to leave, certain to find Darcy holding on by a mere thread if she stole another glance his way, perhaps it was best they kept this brief. "I would not be opposed to engaging in another conversation, it appears there is a great deal in which we could discuss. I would still like to finish a full cup of tea... Before you return home to Belgium, perhaps. Simply call the bar if you wish to make an appointment." If not? Well.. there was nothing left to say. "Au revior, Quinton." She drew to her feet before she looked up to the balcony. Those mismatched eyes of her lover already fastened upon her own. Ah, some things never changed.

With a mere, subtle gesture of her head as a silent invitation for her mate to follow she plucked the wine glass and began to move away. The feline that remained by her side for most of that interaction rose languidly to his paws on a yawn to follow the vampire too.