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As Above, So Below [Ace of Hearts & MoldaviteGreen]

The most amusing thing about a Fae promise, was that it stretched out into the infinite abyss of forever, so very much like the extension of a welcome to a vampire born of the Old Curse. Neither could be broken, forever existing once whispered. Not that anyone would ever learn of that likeness; a secret beheld among ancient, undead kin. It had the corner of Miovska's mouth curling upward in a devilish smirk as he lingered upon the threshold of the Fae household, against an invisible barrier that had not truly held him for the last three centuries.

The broad, bare of his chest rose in a breath; a motion forcefully taken, that left his stale, unused lungs trembling with the rush of the cool, night air. With the backward tilt of his head, storm-dark eyes swept upward overhead at the sandstone façade. Miovska could appreciate the beauty of this place, could understand why the Fae had made the Museum of the Arts their front. What he could not appreciate was being made to wait.

"Well?" Miovska lowered his sharp chin, glaring down at the quivering pixie that still clung to the brass of the door handle as if that mere, pathetic grasp could ever keep a beast such as he out. "Shall you make us remain out here all night? I was under the impression your Queen wanted my presence." A flash of fox-like fangs in the moonlight, the silver glint of a predatory, reflective eyes, and the smooth, Slavic-like lilt of Miovska's voice lowered. "Was I mistaken?"

"N-No," the pixie stuttered, their knuckles turning white.

From beside Miovska, towering over him like a brute, his favoured underling bent down. An awkward display of hunching shoulders and folding bulk, but one that earned the pixie's shaking knees and had Miovska smirking. "So," the underling, Oryn, hissed, "invite us inside."

The pixie's fear, Miovska knew, was steeped in not only his coven's reputation, but Miovska's own. How could the pixie be blamed, when another body had washed up on the river's muddy banks the night before last; the selkie's skin carved free of the corpse and vasculature utterly dry? As the little, cricket-winged pixie stammered the welcome, Miovska ran the flat of his tongue over the front of his teeth, sweeping inside the Museum's grand gallery.

He needed no escort, no guide to draw him through the corridors, for Miovska knew the layout of the Museum of the Arts well enough to know how the shadows fell precisely at midnight. He'd been there for its grand opening, after all, in a time of industrial revolution and war among humanity. Silent, the vampire swept through the wide corridors, twisting hallways, before finally shoving through the mahogany doors of the Lower Chamber. No need for welcome, when he'd already been invited inside.

The doors burst open with enough force that they slammed against the sandstone walls and trembled. The hinges groaned on the recoil, a shrill ring within Miovska's otherwise silent skull. There, he stood in all of his dark glory; damp curls hanging beyond the sweep of his collarbones, the olive of his chest dusted in chocolate hair, revealed by the gape in his leather, biker-style jacket. He wore nothing but leather and denim, the jeans clinging to the thick muscle of his thighs just as dark as his jacket, and matching leather boots. Most frightening of all that Miovska wore was that sinister, upward curve of a sly smirk that revealed two sets of fangs; a glimpse into his heritage. A Sire. A vampire of ancient, so wickedly free of the metaphysical laws that constrained those made within the New Age.

"My, you've all started without me," Miovska called, letting his words carry about the space and echo off of the Grecian marble statues, absorbed by the colourful, hanging tapestries. As he lowered his arms, drawing forward, he set the dark of his gaze upon the teal face of the unglamoured Queen of the Fae. "How awfully rude of you, Lilavati."

The Fae, for all that they enjoyed grandeur and dramatics, had all bristled. Seated upon their plush, artesian cushions, drawn over the Arabic, woven rugs splayed across the marble floor, they'd all stiffened with the vampires' sudden presence. Yet, they knew, it was only one presence above the rest which saw the warmth suffocated beneath a sudden, deathly chill.

Some regarded Miovska with a cursory glance before pretending to return to their conversations. Others stared, cautiously watching how the man moved with feline-like grace across the space to lean against a pillar holding a depiction of Icarus' fall in marble. The Fae Queen, her eyes a sunflower yellow, regarded Miovska with a brave contempt.

Brave, because it was Miovska's scrawled name that had drawn them all together, begging.

"We do not work on a schedule according to you, Miovska," Lilavati raised the rim of her crystal flute glass to the indigo seam of her lips. The look she cast him was one of barely restrained frustration. It if was not for her desire to see her people safe, she'd have sooner torn up the proposed peace treaty than send her pixie to invite him inside when he'd had the gall to arrive late. "You've missed a great deal, but I cannot be bothered repeating it." Lilavati waved a hand towards a haggard wench. "Paisley shall catch you up to speed."

Miovska, still leaning comfortably against the statue, crossed his arms over his chest. "No need." The sharp angles of his face had been schooled into cool neutrality. "You shall find my seal upon the treaty once you give me what I desire most."​

Those dark, narrowed eyes slid to where a Fae nestled among the rest of his folk. There, Miovska would meet the Gancanagh’s gaze; bold and brazen. It mattered little if the man sneered at him, for Miovska’s own gaze would shimmer with predatory delight.

"And what is it you believe you desire most?"

A sudden, rip of silence tore through the room. Fae held their breath. Lycans bristled. Witches paused their shuffle of cards. The coven of vampires at Miovska's back lingered within the edges of the long-drawn shadows, silent but pacing.

"The Gancanagh."​
 
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It was a most shameful thing that it had all come to this. A need for meetings, carving out promises of peace between their races, all due to the way in which they had begun to treat one another. Only they were certain that the deaths falling upon the members of most clans and covens present were being committed by one in particular. The most feared clutch of vampires, the sire of which was all but known beyond the shadow of a doubt to be the most vicious and violent of all fae.

Kaldrielle sat at the table, silent as his queen spoke to the gathering. He was merely here as one of her most trusted agents, having secured so much for her and the other fae within her kingdom. If it could be counted as such, though he had the opinion that their numbers were far too little to be considered one of great power. At least when you compared it to the brutality in which others conducted themselves, taking from one another in the most vile of methods. Not that they were above that. It wasn't long ago that they had ripped into a mountainside, taking on trolls and goblins alike, all in the name of securing fortune for themselves.

As soon as the individual they had been waiting on arrived, he felt himself grow cold. Nobody trusted the vampire king, and all of them were ready for some kind of an attack upon them once he would be brought to their meeting. Yet he felt that that was not something that would be happening today. Whatever it was that had been written upon the breeze rumbling through the land had the Gancanagh feeling uneasy, though he could not put his finger onto what that was.

He looked towards the witches, shuffling their cards, trying to see what was to come. As if they could actually give a proper reading with those damn tools in what little time they had left. They frowned as they bent over their cards, shook their heads, and started again. What they needed was a true Seer among them, and yet failed to have one amongst them. Magic seemed to be fading out, with less and less witches being born. Something else targeting them perhaps.

Far too soon did he sense the malevolent presence of the vampire coming down. He straightened up, his queen taking note. She cast about a look around the table, and everyone stilled just before the doors slammed open.

One positive thing that could be said about the man was how good looking he was. Even Kaldrielle could not scoff at such a fact and suggest that he was nothing in comparison to his own supernatural allure. Perhaps that was something about beauty within their world. It was thrust upon those with abilities and personalities found within the most abhorrent of them.

Many began to converse amongst themselves once again, and Kaldrielle looked towards his queen. She was remaining as cool and collected as she had been, and the Gancanagh did the same, waiting for things to truly begin.

Lilavati spoke, drawing the lines and setting forth the fact that just because they waited for him did not mean that he was the one that held the entire meeting. She was the one that had pulled this together, and she would be in charge. Regardless of just how desperate they all may have been to secure the safety of their numbers from the one they all believed to be the trust master of death, deciding who would die and when, and executing such a decision on his own whim.

Something in the way that they were speaking brought about another feeling of unease within Kaldrielle, and he stilled, eyes fixated upon the vampire. There was something to this. Miovska clearly wanted something, and had every intention of utilizing the treaty in order to get it. And as he looked upon the terrible man of darkness, misery, and death, he felt a shiver run up his spine. But not to be taken as weak - for he was not - he steadied his own gaze upon that of the other, immediately understanding what was being done, and wishing to instill some kind of doubt upon the vampire.

It did not work.

"How dare you?" he hissed, eyes narrowing. "To suggest that I be used as a bargaining chip, as if I am nothing more than cattle to add on to sweeten the deal for you."

The Gancanagh looked towards his queen, his insides writhing. She didn't look at him, her eyes remaining upon the vampire. And then his insides stilled. Because he knew exactly what was going to happen. It had seemed that the warning winding among the land and finding its way to him was one meant specifically for him.

"My queen. Please. You must not allow this to happen."

He could feel everyone's eyes shifting between him and Lilavati, many of them unable to believe that she would do such a thing. And some of them eager to just have this done with so the rest of them could leave the room knowing that they did not need to worry about their own lives being ripped from their throats by this vampire. And still, the queen did not look at the subject being requested as payment for Miovska's signature upon the treaty.
 
The Gancanagh’s snark, his bite of words, had Miovaska pressing the pink flat of his tongue against the sharp point of his double fangs. A smirk threatened to pull at his lips, but, instead, twinkled with a twisted delight within the dark of his eyes.

The Sire pushed away from the pillar, the Grecian marble statue wobbling a little from the movement but never falling, as his footsteps came eerily quiet over the floor. If the people before him were blind, if they’d all been plunged into darkness, none would have been able to guise where Miovska stalked. He’d had centuries to learn the art of silence, and he practiced it now as he crossed lazily towards the Gancanagh.

“Whom do you refer to as cattle?” Miovska purred, lingering close to the table with which the man sat; the Gancanagh near his Queen. A finger dipped into the syrup drooled over a fruit tart, the stickiness smeared between fingertip and thumb. “My beloved blood whores or yourself, for even they would not dare to speak as you have. In fact…”

Miovska drew the pad of his syrup-coated thumb across his lips, dipping it into his mouth to lick it clean as he held the man’s gaze. When he was done, he smirked wickedly. “…they would beg me to take them to sweeten the deal; beg me to fuck, fill, and drain them, before thanking me.”

The obscenity of his suggestion had the humans glancing away, a handful of lesser Fae gasping, and the witches whispering. Miovska spoke so crudely, was being so crass, before the Fae Queen, and he didn’t care at all. For all whom he cared to shock, to anger, to strike shame into the heart of was the man whom held his absolute attention. The Gancanagh he so hungrily wanted as his.

“You will be thanking me too, soon enough, Gancanagh,” Miovska promised smoothly, his words caring a double edge. You shall be thanking me for draining you, like the cattle you mention. But you shall also be thanking me for fucking you.

“That is enough.” Queen Lilavati would only bear the vampire’s crassness for so long. She could not stand to hear Kaldrielle spoken to so shamelessly. Not after all he had done for their people, for her. Not even if everything wasn’t enough to have her refusing Miovska’s demands.

Unable to look at him, the Fae Queen held her eyes upon Miovska whom smirked cockily from the other side of the table. He knew that he’d won, and she’d known that she’d give in to whatever he demanded. Their game of wits was a farce when everyone but this coven was desperate.

“The Gancanagh is yours on one condition.”

Miovska’s dark brow rose, curious. “I do not believe you to be in a position to make conditions, Lilavati.”

“Swear that he shall remain alive so long as this treaty remains true,” the Queen stated regardless. “So long as your name remains bled into this parchment, that this treaty still stands, he shall remain alive as he is now.” As he is now, not undead.

“I swear it.” Miovska spoke the words easily, because he already knew a loophole. The termination of the treaty, via whatever form, would see his promise forfeit. He’d have thought the Fae Queen better at making trickier bargains.

As a haggard little wench teetered over, carrying the parchment that already held the signatures of all others, Miovska found the Gancanagh’s fiery gaze. He edged away from the table, drawing space between them so that the Gancanagh could not reach him without walking to him.

“Come,” he summoned. “You wish to see your people safe, and you harbour a newfound hatred for me, I presume by the way you look at me now.”

The quill was plucked up from the wench’s offering hand, sharp enough to pierce flesh. Blood was what would solidify this pact between people and tether together the treaty. It was held out in offering, Miovska’s mouth pressed into a line. The dark of his eyes betrayed his depraved amusement.

“Come, and see to them both,” he lured. “Make me bleed so I may forge my name into this treaty.”

The breaths of many within the room were held. All of it—the treaty, their safety, the cessation of killings—hinged upon Kaldrielle. The Fae Queen was playing checkers, while Miovska had always been playing chess.
 
Disgusting. And cruel. He had heard enough of the stories to know that he was not going to be treated as anything more than a plaything and a blood doll. And Kaldrielle had so much more in plan for himself, he was not going to allow himself to be traded away like a piece of meat. Lilavati would surely not actually consider this to be a reasonable price for the vampire's promise to not harm anybody in the fae realms again. There were other ways to ensure their safety, such as putting together a strong guard composed of multiple men and women from the differing tribes. Even vampires couldn't possibly go up against such a host, if they were able to agree to it and take on that risk.

The words that fell from the sire's lips brought about a curl to the Gancanagh's upper lip, his face taking on the visage of one who was filled with nothing but contempt for the other and the things that he said. He was not going to start throwing himself to the vampire's feet anytime soon, nor would he be laying himself out with his legs spread for him. What a most vile thing to even consider. Kaldrielle had far too much respect for himself to do that, no matter what sort of condition he may be in. If the vampire was going to get anything from him, it would be his blood, by force, and nothing more. And that was certainly not going to happen. Not so long as his queen realizes what a waste it would be to let him go for the pact.

His face fell and his blood ran cold. The queen to whom he had pledged his allegiance to was agreeing to the proposed deal. And sadly, the Gancanagh's oath to his queen had meant that he actually didn't have a choice in any of this himself. If she was going to offer him up for this deal, then it was something that he had no choice but to follow. Up to a point, anyway.

What he wanted, more than anything, was to rip the vampire's head right off of his shoulders. Watch him turn into dust that would be swept away. Maybe he would get that opportunity some day. If he did receive such a luxury, he would not hesitate to take it in hand and see to the end that was a terrible blight upon the peoples in the realm.

Fury unlike anything he had felt previously erupted within him, and he stared the sire down. His eyes held the promise of some form of retribution for this. There would come a day where he would be able to get some form of revenge. If there was anything that Kaldrielle could promise himself, it was that.

As much as he would have liked to have been able to walk away from this entire situation, he knew that he couldn't. So long as that bond remained between him and his queen, he had no choice but to do as she wanted. And that bond would not be broken until the treaty was signed by the sire, and he was released with the promise made between Lilavati and Miovska. Then he would instead be the vampire's property. But at least that only meant so much. Of course it was enough that the Gancanagh had to be careful, lest he find himself broken and used. Because there had been no promise that no harm would come to him. Only that he would remain alive, in the same way that he was right now.

Lips pulled together in a thin line, he stared at Miovska, not wanting to do as he was told. Wishing to draw it out. But one sound from his queen, and his gaze was broken, instead falling to her. She gave him a look and he flinched before looking away. She had just given him up, so easily. Did he really want to serve her any longer, after she had just betrayed him in this manner? No. But he certainly didn't want to become mere chattel of the vampire's, either.

Teeth grinding together, he moved forward, eyes back on the man who was soon able to claim him as his own. He plucked the pen with the razor edge from his hand and looked down at the vampire's hand. Knowing that this may very well be the only chance he would get in quite some time, he grabbed hold of the appendage and pressed the pen's blade against a finger, slicing across it. Far more than he needed to. But he wanted there to be no mistake about it. Kaldrielle was not okay with this at all.
 
Miovska was so very used to a myriad of emotion swirling within the eyes that beheld him. They were all kin; fear, suspicion, wariness, unease. There were flickers of morbid curiosity at times. Sometimes anger-laced terror.

It had been an age since one had dared meet his gaze with such poisonous fury that Miovska thought, for the briefest of moments, that he could taste it. The Gancanagh's toxic, boiling rage could be felt across the space held between them, and it had the corner of the vampire's mouth beginning to twitch upward in an amused smirk.

How very bold. How very brave. How very, sweetly curious.

Where the rest of the Gancanagh's kin had shied away from Miovska's roaming eyes, this Fae had met it head on and refused to let it drop. Instead, their eyes remained locked upon the other; two beasts sizing the other up for a meal. Only one of them would eat the flesh of the other, and it was not the beautiful, chestnut haired Fae whom stood and stalked closer with his teeth grit.

The pen was plucked up from the case, but Miovska didn't watch as it was slashed brutally across the length of his outstretched digit. The dark of his eyes were cast upon the sharp features of the Gancanagh's face; of the olive skin, the stubble across his jaw, the deep furrow of his full brow and the plush seam of his downturned mouth. He felt the twitch of his dead pain receptors spark, a pathetic little fire of dulled nerve endings, but it wasn't enough to peel his attention away from the man's face.

Instead, he let it linger, even as the sharp points of his fangs bit deep into the flesh of his own lower lip. There was a violence in that action, the vicious sweep of the pen's blade and how deep it had pressed into flesh. The sheer fury in it, that same rage that simmered within those intoxicating eyes, had Miovska tilting his face to the ceiling, his dark lashes fluttering closed, as he released the quietest of subtle moans. Depraved, it was, but it slipped from him like a honeyed song nonetheless as he revelled in the man's harshness.

"Oh, my dear," Miovska purred, slowly lowering his chin as his eyes flickered open. His pupils had blown wide, glinting like a predator's in the lowlight of the room. The smirk he cast at the Gancanagh was not one that necessarily pulled at his mouth, but showed within the wicked glint in his eye. The stagnant, thick blood bloomed upon his finger; drooling slow like tree sap. "It seems you and I harbour that same inherent need for violence. How delicious."

Miovska stepped forward, the soles of his boots making an awful squeal over the marble floor, before he reached past the Fae and swept his bleeding finger across the parchment. The pen was plucked from the Gancanagh's grasp, scrawling into that thick syrup, sealing the treaty and also Miovska's promise. When it was done, he cast the dark of his gaze to the Fae Queen.

"I'll be taking my leave now," Miovska announced, stretching an arm lazily like a yawning cat, before letting it fall to rub at the back of his neck. This whole ordeal bored him, but he'd leave with the one thing he'd wanted. The one thing that had driven him to come to this pathetic gathering, at all. Taking the Gancanagh's wrist suddenly, the Sire flashes a fanged smile; venomous. "Do svidaniya, Lilavati." Goodbye.

Whether the Fae would fight him or not, Miovska would tighten his grasp and turn. He wouldn't linger there, wouldn't grant the Fae and those others gathered to feel they held some semblance of power now that the bastardised treaty had been signed. In truth, they'd gained nothing. Miovska gained it all, and he tugged it through the hall and deep into the shadows; his fingers tight about the Gancanagh's wrist.

The twist and turns drew them up to the ground level, statues and Neolithic pieces on display about them. The darkness swallowed them, Miovska drawing them both around the corner as the rest of his coven slipped away into the abyss. With as much suddenness as lightening, Miovska spun on the Fae and thrust him back into a wall. His forearm came down over the man's throat, harsh against his windpipe, as the vampire bared his fangs.

"Your name," Miovska hissed, his eyes low upon the man's mouth before snapping up to meet the Gancanagh's gaze. "Give it to me."
 
Kaldrielle did not think himself brave. He didn't think that he was being bold, either. Maybe a little there, but he actually felt that he was being very, very foolish. At the best, he was simply testing his boundaries, and making his displeasure known. Taken at the worst possible scenario, he was openly doing something to actually try to hurt the new man whom would effectively own him. Somehow, this was something that that Gancanagh didn't care about. From the moment that his queen had agreed to the deal, he no longer cared about anything, except somehow managing to get the hell out of this entire arrangement, and far far away from all of the bastards that had helped put him here.

He slashed. The vampire moaned. And Kaldrielle felt his stomach turn, and he recoiled, disgusted at the insinuation that he felt was there. That Miovska got off on the idea of his new play thing wanting to hurt him. It was not the normal thing that one would expect, even from one like him. Unless, of course, he was just playing a game and trying to get a rise out of the Gancanagh or send him into a spiral of absolute horrified terror.

Watching as the vampire bent down to sign the treaty, Kaldrielle looked over towards his queen. She was not looking at him, and probably never would again. Over the years she would convince herself that this was for the best. It was the only way to secure absolute safety for her entire court. But she would still feel guilt over it, and she would never be able to look him in the eye again.

As he stood there thinking about this, he failed to look at Miovska until his wrist was suddenly grabbed, and he choked back a gasp. His eyes burned as he looked at the vampire, and then he grunted as he was yanked so ceremoniously away from the rest of the fae and down the hall. It was happening. Whether he was okay with it or not, he had been bartered off to a cruel, heartless monster, and now he was being forced to go away with him. Away to wherever it was that he holed himself up. Probably some half dilapidated building, where his children vampires fed upon more hopeless beings than himself. What would become of him now? Would he be forced to lay upon a table, allowing multiple dark, immortal creatures feed off of him whenever they so desired? Just signal when he was about to pass out, so that they didn't kill him?

If he thought that he could wait until the horrors he feared were unleashed upon him, it seemed that he was wrong. Before they had even stepped outside of the manor, he was suddenly shoved up against a wall, rather harshly. Miovska held a forearm over his windpipe, and he could feel it threatening to cut off his air supply. Only he wouldn't do that. He couldn't, actually, due to the bargain that had been made. Kaldrielle was to be kept alive as he currently was. The vampire couldn't kill him.

"Is of no concern to you," he managed to get out, his lip curled in disdain. "Just call me pet or whatever other sick name you like to use on your play things." His eyes were dark with contempt, and he held them steady, staring directly into the vampire's. Maybe this was one thing that his queen had done, for his benefit. She hadn't mentioned his name once to the vampire. And names held power.
 
"Come now," Miovska purred, inching forward until the cool tip of his nose slowly brushed the angle of the Fae's jaw. "Do not play coy now that we are alone." A graze of sharp fangs came to the Gancanagh's cheek, Miovska's eerily cool breath licking over the man's ear.

"To think of you as the same as the rest would be foolish. You are no mere pet to me," Miovska let the flat of his tongue capture the soft lobe of the Fae's ear; the firm of his body pressing in tight to the Gancanagh.

Like this, their feet within each other's step and tangled within the darkness, they could have been mistaken for lovers. It was intimate, the way in which he slipped in flush against the Fae's body, his knee pressing firm between the man's own legs. Whether the Gancanagh would part for him, would bend and melt, was of no true concern. Miovska sought one thing alone: this man's name.

"Would you prefer for me to call you something vile?" The vampire smirked, tilting his face to spy the Gancanagh's sharp features from his peripheries before he leant back and met his defiant gaze. "'Pet' does not suit you, for you are no docile thing. 'Plaything' seems so very mediocre. 'Whore' is not my…only intention for you."

Miovska's arm slipped a little, the cool of his palm finding the front of the Gancanagh's throat. There, those slender fingers found the steady beat of the man's pulse; a drum beneath the surface that promised warm, luscious life. How beautifully it would spill between his fingers and drool down his palm. How syrupy and delicious it would be weeping over his tongue.

"Keep your true name to yourself, Gancanagh," Miovska said finally, the lush flirtatiousness of his earlier words falling away. As he spoke, the pad of his thumb stroked over warm flesh, the vampire basking in the radiant heat of an alive body. "Give me something else to call you by, at the very least. I have no interest in using labels, nor to categorise you as solely one."

Higher, his palm slid, until he captured the Fae's jaw in his tiger-tight grasp. The crescents of his nails dug into the soft skin of the man's chin and cheeks, holding the Gancanagh's face so very close. "You and I," the vampire murmured, "are bound. Detest it, you may, but it would be in your best interest to play nice."

Then, like the shadows, Miovska stepped and fell away. There one moment, and gone the next. The only hint of his lingering presence came as a glint of silvery, predatory eyes reflecting the moonlight from within the gallery's large, now-open door.

"Come," the vampire called, his voice eerie within the space which it echoed. "Come play beneath the moon with me."
 
Coy. As if he could possibly be the least bit interested in the vampire. No, this was not the sign of a coy Gancanagh, who would have been pressing into the other man so very subtly, using his eyes to capture their attention. Soft whispers meant to elicit some kind of primal response. It was not in his nature to beat about the bush once he already had the interest of another that he sought. Those games were only played on those that he had not yet caught and brought to a place where they could have their most carnal of pleasures.

Kaldrielle winced as he felt that tongue start to toy with his ear, and there was no hiding the way in which his breathing had begun to speed up. Panic was starting to flood through him, and he was internally cursing his queen. His former queen. The woman who had so easily allowed him to be used as a bartering chip for a signature upon that damn treaty.

There was no response from him as Miovska continued, still refusing to just come out with his name. Did the vampire truly think that he would care if he was called something foul? He had heard so many things used to refer to him by other fae. All whom were either jealous of him and what he could do, or angry that he had been made the queen's personal friend and - That was it. Miovska had undoubtedly come to know of him because of another's vitriol over the relationship between the fae queen and the Gancanagh.

As his throat was toyed with under the ministrations of the vampire's fingers, he stared back at Miovska, eyes unblinking. He began to get his fear under control again, refusing to allow himself to fall apart now. There were others out there who needed to face justice for this offense conducted against him.

"If you would like a name so bad, Kal will suffice," he said, voice filled with loathing as his face was grabbed and held. Try as he might to remain calm, however, his body had tensed up, before relaxing again once the vampire had moved away from him.

Whatever it was that Miovska wished to do, the Gancanagh had no desire to take part in it. Currently they may have been bound. But at the very first opportunity, Kaldrielle would see to the severing of it, by any means necessary. If he was to take that opportunity by killing the bastard, then that would just be a bonus. For now, however, like it or not... it really was in his best interests to just go along with whatever it was that his master demanded. Just because he couldn't be killed didn't mean that he couldn't be forced to endure torments that would make him wish he were dead.

"It might be best if we were to make our way away from this place," he said, moving towards the vampire. "Treaty or not, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to find that there were some who would wish to harm you in some way. And now that you have taken me." Kaldrielle tilted his head some. "While I may have been considered untouchable while I served Lilavati, some covet me enough that they could try to snatch me away from you."
 
Miovska did not reply to the giving of a name. Though he wished to taste it, to learn how it felt over his tongue and in the back of his throat, the vampire showed restraint. Instead, that desire to speak it, to shout it, to sing and scream it, was twisted and warped internally. It became a chant, one that only echoed the cavernous space of Miovska's own mind. Kal. Kal. Kal. Kal. Over and over, it rolled and coiled; becoming a drumbeat in place of a heart that no longer beat. Kal. A whisper. Kal. A shiver. Kal. A manifestation of something dark and insidious.

Still, he had slipped away. The shadows, Miovska's only true kin, gathered his form as if they were one and the same. Like the flicker of light, he became the monster at the edge of Kal's vision, torn away into the metaphysical plane before manifesting within the large space of the open gallery door. There, upon the threshold of which he lingered, Miovska watched as Kal remained by the wall; the tension of his body bleeding out with the vampire's sudden absence. Miovska wondered whether the Gancanagh loathed the eerie chill of his body as most hot-bloods did.

Kal surprised him, however, in both his approach and offering of advice. In return, Miovska stepped out of the way, granting Kal the space he needed to slip free of the gallery's confines and out into the chill of the night. In truth, these were all things Miovska had considered. As much as he played by his own rules, there were still rules nonetheless. Most of all, there were expectations—ones that Miovska needed to crush, and do so early.

"Fear not, dear Kal," Miovska smirked. "I protect what is mine, and that is precisely what you have become." Those foolish enough to cross Miovska would not be dealt a swift, clean death. The Sire was known for his brutality, above all, and his lack of forgiveness even more so. A strike against what he claimed as his was as good as an attack upon himself; and it would be dealt with just has harshly.

Quietly, Miovska began to move along the sidewalk. Within the faraway shadows, his coven flickered and flitted. They were only glimpses spied at the edges of one's peripheries, as if they were never truly there. Miovska, however, felt the dull pull of them all; the thread of their kinship binding them. They remained close, fearful of straying too far and also too curious to not linger. Miovska, however, was in no real rush and kept his steps casual and slow; falling into step beside the Gancanagh with just a little space between their shoulders.

"My children," Miovska began, the playfulness of his voice having fallen, "are curious creatures. Lash at me all you like. Spit your vitriol and your venom at me however often you wish. But I must warn you against using such attitude with them."

The vampire glanced to Kal, drinking in the profile of the man's face as he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his dark jeans. "I adore them, but they remain young. Very few would think twice about killing you for such insolence—enjoy it, though I may."

Turning his gaze back ahead, Miovska guided them deeper into the cityscape. Kal had granted him a warning. Laced with a threat though it may have been, it was a warning nonetheless. It was something Miovska was admittedly somewhat grateful for, and so he gave his own.

"Learn to use me." Miovska glanced to Kal from the corners of his dark eyes once again. "Use my name, use my mythos, use the threat of me if it means you'll be safe. Hate it all the same, but do not be stubborn enough to not use what my claim upon you can afford you. Do you understand?"
 
A shiver ran down the Gancanagh's spine, the claim pressed upon him being anything but reassuring. He already knew that he now belonged to Miovska, but to have it repeated was furthering that claim on him, and he despised it. What exactly would start to be heard amongst the rest of the fae? Everybody who knew him would undoubtedly soon learn that he had become nothing more than a piece of property. Traded away for a promise that may or may not be broken. And did any of them truly know if the vampire actually intended to keep to his own part of the deal, and ensure that the Gancanagh was kept alive, just as he was when the treaty was signed?

Silence filled the space between them, as little of it as there was. Kaldrielle kept himself close to the other's side, building that expectation now, so it may not come as a surprise later on, when there was a golden opportunity. It would bring suspicion, and if there was anything that he was good at, it was planning for the future. He needed to keep his eye on what it was he wished to achieve in the long run.

His eyes narrowed as he looked towards the others ahead of him, not really seeing them. Mere glimpses perhaps. Phantom images, enough to make one question whether or not they were really seeing anything at all. Kaldrielle wondered if they were close enough to hear the conversation taking place between Sire and his new pet.

For a moment, Kaldrielle's lips pursed, the words tumbling in his brain. "While I would like to think that I will not have to worry about dealing with them at all... I find your warning to be concerning in and of itself." He turned his face briefly towards the vampire, and then looked away when he saw that he too was looking his way. "If you are their head, then why do you not warn them against harming me? Or do you really care so little if your promise is so easily broken?"

It should have been something to prick the man with offense. To suggest that he made promises carelessly, and was not one to actually be trusted about keeping them. One of the many characteristics of the fae was their firm belief in the sanctity of bargains and promises. Break that sacred tenement, and you were never trusted again. Your words were useless. As were you in the eyes of the rest of the fae.

Perhaps it was dangerous, to be saying such things to Miovska. But he did expect to receive some kind of punishment sooner or later. Something for his insolence. Even if the vampire did say that he enjoyed it. No doubt he didn't come across many who would dare speak to him in such a manner. But then maybe Kaldrielle was looking to find out what he was dealing with sooner rather than later. It would be far easier to learn what to expect if he was shown from earlier on. The vampire could not possibly restrain himself for long. The rumors on his cruelty were far too numbered and thorough. Weren't they?

For a moment, a different kind of chill gripped Kaldrielle from the one that was in the air. The other had told him to learn to use him, and he actually thought that it was some kind of a sexual command. That Miovska wanted to play some kind of sick game of reverse domination, where the Gancanagh took on the power role. But then he continued, and his loathing was abated.

"Believe me, I do not wish to perish before my time has reached its natural end. As much as my words may make you think differently. I do not actually have a death wish." He turned his head, looking at Miovska now. "If I must use your name to secure my own safety, I will."

He didn't look away this time, waiting. Kaldrielle wanted to make sure that the vampire was looking at him when he asked his question. "What exactly are your plans of use for me?"
 
Their crossing of glances had the corner of Miovska's mouth twitching upwards in the beginning of a smug, and self-satisfied smirk. The Gancanagh presumed a great deal about him; likely perpetuated by the broad reach of Miovska's own mythos. His reputation preceded him, and it left most whom crossed paths with him already sure they knew who and what he was like.

Kal revealed his own presumption—that Miovska would warn his coven against touching, or harming, the Fae in their midst and that doing so would be swiftly punished. It was almost amusing that Kal considered Miovska's coven to be docile, perhaps even meek, given the true nature of them. Did the Gancanagh truly expect such wild, vicious beasts to be so easily tamed by mere verbal direction? Miovska pressed his lips together, his fangs dimpling the lower tier, as he dipped his head and fought back a sly grin. Dear little Fae, he thought. You have so very much yet to learn.

A cool breeze captured a deep chocolate curl, tossing it forward against the front panel of the vampire's leather jacket. Miovska pressed his hands deeper into the jacket's pockets, balling them into light fists as he felt Kal's eyes return to the side of his face. There was still venom within the man's words, still a heated ire and potential hatred, but the Sire felt a sparkle of hope that, perhaps, there would grow some element of mutual understanding.

Miovska nodded once, keeping his gaze forward expecting Kal to look away. Instead, the Gancanagh let his eyes linger, and did not avoid Miovska's own as the vampire looked to him. "Good," was all that Miovska offered. It was spoken in his rich, silken baritone, hanging between them with so many meanings. In time, he'd be able to afford the man beside him greater protection than that offered merely by his name. But it was too soon, and Miovska needed to be patient.

What he didn't expect, however, was for Kal to ask him so directly about his intentions. There came nothing for the first few drawn seconds. Miovska's shadow-cast face remained schooled into perfect neutrality as he came to a sudden pause, almost mid-step. He turned towards Kal, a hand slowly drawing out from the pocket of his jacket, as that same wickedly mischievous smirk pulled at his mouth. Their came a matching glimmer within the dark glint of his eye.

As Miovska's hand found Kal's broad shoulder, patting it twice as if they were mere old friends, the vampire tilted his head and said; "Let's get a drink, shall we?"

He wouldn't care for Kal's answer. Instead, the Sire would squeeze the Gancanagh's shoulder briefly before drawing away and continuing their walk. Deeper into the city, Miovska led them; until the sidewalks were cast in flashes of neon, glimpses of shadows from the high skyscrapers, and everything seemed to glitter with a mixture of glass and steel and crystal.

Within the heart of the city, it was easy for the two to blend in among the sparse crowd. On an evening such as this, people were leaving late for work just as those were travelling into the city's centre for a night out on town. Humans milled, their aesthetics so varied and vast. Against the dullness of such mortal creatures, the pair would have seemed so starkly different: one, a man so honey-glazed and beautiful, while the other so coolly eerie. It had eyes cast in their direction as Miovska led them towards the riverbank, a specific bar in mind.

The riverside bar appeared before them; all matte black and glittering gold. The people within wore crisp business suits while drinking after-work whiskey, while others wore glittering dresses or deep shades of velour. Miovska, dressed in nothing but his dark denim pants and leather jacket, would have normally been refused entry for being so blatantly bare-chested. The security at the door, however, simply nodded and cast his eyes over Kal.

As Miovska swept into the bar, he said; "He's with me."

That was all that was needed for the security to avert his eyes. Just as it was all that was needed for a spot upon the long, wooden bench overlooking the river to be cleared of empty glassware and lingering patrons. A space was carved for them, one that Miovska immediately claimed as he settled upon a stool and drew out a second, his dark eyes finding the warmth of Kal's own.

"What're you having?"
 
No response. Well really wasn't that all the response that he needed? The sire did not give a single fuck as to whether or not the deal was really upheld. He had just been looking to get the Gancanagh in his grasp, and once he did... whatever came of the fae's life was of no real concern. Either he would learn to accept his fate and do as he was told... or the other vampires of the coven would rip him apart and kill him. And in the end, the treaty would be broken, no longer valid, and Miovska would simply go back to what he had been doing before he signed the damn parchment with his blood. No real harm done.

He was even angrier than he had been before. Not only did his queen sell him off like he was some kind of cattle, but she had failed to consider the real weight of such a sacrifice. His life was meaningless in the end, and that was something that nobody enjoyed learning about themselves.

Now certain that he was on his own, he started to consider everything that could keep him alive long enough for him to secure his own freedom once more. It was going to take some time, however. He would need to earn the sire's trust, and that was going to be perhaps one of the most difficult tasks that Kaldrielle had ever given himself. One that could go on for years. And it was going to be a true testament to just how damn patient one needed to be when dealing with the immortal.

A shiver ran down Kaldrielle's back as that hand patted his shoulder, and he winced slightly. That could not have been a good sign. It was if the master was trying to keep its pet calm, so that it didn't bolt off into the night. Not that Kaldrielle would have been able to get very far.

Silence hung between them, with the Gancanagh following behind his unwanted master, eyes flitting about, keeping watch for any others that might come along to interact with them. He thought that they would be heading towards whatever sort of dilapidated dwelling was awaiting him for his new permanent residence. Maybe he'd even be kept in some kind of fucking cage, like an animal that was worth no more than the basics to be kept alive. So that the bastard had a living toy to play with, and drink from whenever he so desired.

The bar that they came to appeared to be something of a higher class. For a moment, Kaldrielle smirked to himself, casting a sideways glance towards the vampire. There was no way in hell he was going to be permitted to enter looking like that. At least the Gancanagh wore a nice shirt and pant combo, although he might have still looked a bit out of place. While everyone inside had on nice suits, his own attire had more ruffles than the standard man was expected to have. Maybe if they went back a few hundred years he would have fit the mold a whole lot better. But he much preferred this old style that had been far more prevalent in the courts of mortal kings and queens, and continued on amongst the fae.

Certain that something interested was bound to happen, Kaldrielle found himself unpleasantly surprised as both he and the vampire were allowed entry. His disdain for how easily Miovska seemed to get everything he wanted would have been easy to see upon his face. There was no reason for him to conceal it as far as he could tell.

He still hadn't said anything, and even sitting down, with a question, he remained quiet. Rather than reply, he simply stared at the vampire. As if he could be placated into a less sullen and bitter mood with the promise of alcohol.

"My question hasn't been answered," he finally stated, feeling that some kind of response was expected. "I don't see why I should entertain your own."
 
The disdain written upon Kal's face was not missed by Miovska. He simply chose to ignore it. Instead, the Sire turned towards the leather bound drinks menu, pouring over the script text as if he didn't already know with absolute certainty what he was going to order. As if the bar staff wouldn't have already spied him, and begun to gather what they'd assume he wanted; just as always. He waited for the Fae to settle down atop the second stool, and bided his time.

Kal's cutting words, a boundary set, had Miovska dipping his head as he tried to hide a bemused smirk. The dark chocolate of his curls fell forward, curtaining his features some. "Here I was thinking that I was being nice taking you out for a drink, the first of our many nights together." From beneath the dark tendrils of his hair, Miovska's dark eyes flickered and met Kal's. "Remind me, then," Miovska shot forward, catching the leg of Kal's stool and dragging it, and the man atop it, so close that their legs brushed. "What was your question?"

The drinks menu was set before the Fae, an invitation. Instead, Miovska turned more deeply into the man, the outer sides of their opposite thighs pressed so close that the vampire could feel the radiant heat of the Gancanagh. It felt like being beneath the midday, summer sun—not entirely unpleasant, but with a sting nonetheless. Miovska, however, had a penchant for things that made him feel something besides the cool flicker of eternal nothingness that came with immortality. The radiant heat of Kal's body certainly wasn't granting the Fae any favours if he'd wished to keep his distance. Rather, it had Miovska clutching the edge of the stool's seat, his fingers curled over the edge of it as the inside of his wrist pressed in against Kal's hip, as he leant forward.

"Ah, that's right," Miovska purred. "You wished to know what I intend to do with you, yes?" The dark of his eyes fell a little. His gaze, laced with something wicked, had settled upon the soft seam of Kal's mouth. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, what it would take to see the shape of it alter to something other than the displeased line that it bore now. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific, dear. Do you mean what I intended when I demanded you? Do you mean what I intend to do now, tonight? Or are you wanting to know the trajectory and my overall goal now that I have you?"

Miovska slowly straightened, giving back that personal space to Kal once more. He'd heard the flicker of a heartbeat approach, and he greeted the server with a bright smile. "Two Amaretto Bourbons, please."

The server dipped her head, flitting away among the crowd and to the bar. He could smell the heavy pour of the red wine already, the presence of the server a mere show of normality when they had, in fact, anticipated Miovska's thirst.

"Are you hoping to hear that I have some elaborate plan on how to best utilise you?" Miovska turned to face the river, his heels upon the lower rung of the stool. He clasped his hands upon the wooden top of the bench, his fingers laced together loosely. "I have heard rumours of your power and it thrills me. Of that much, I'll be honest, Kal. Though, perhaps for reasons you aren't anticipating."

Glancing to the Gancanagh from the corners of his eyes, Miovska watched the man's expression closely. "Quite frankly, I need information." The cool breeze rushed by, catching a lock of chestnut hair and tossing it over the broad of his shoulder. "I need information that someone like me can't easily obtain. I'm hoping, with your particular skill, that it'll be a much easier feat."

Two tumblers of mahogany-red liquor was set down before them, the server not lingering any long than she needed. The garnish was simple: a slice of orange, a twig of thyme, a lone fresh cherry and a singular, small block of ice. Miovska took a swig of his almost the very same second it was set down.

Those within his coven, his children, could not tolerate mortal food. Such was the way of the vampiric virus. Miovska, a Sire born of the original strain, was one of the very rare few who weren't shackled that same way.

"Since you're in the mood for answers, I'm sure you have more questions." Miovska's tumbler was set down with a gentle knock. Dark eyes met Kal's gaze. "I'll do the best I can to answer them, but forgive me if I talk in circles. It's either because I cannot guarantee who is listening, or because I'm merely accustomed to having to watch my words with your kind."
 
The damn vampire would think that this was being nice. If he wasn't immediately getting his fangs into his new slave's neck, then who the hell was Kal to complain, right? Well someone really needed to fill him in on what was actually an act of kindness, and what was just some attempt to keep the veil over the serious negative reality of a situation.

Kaldrielle gave a short, quiet gasp as his stool was suddenly pulled closer towards the other male, and his heart jumped up into his throat. He was fairly certain that he was about to get bitten right here and now, just for giving cheek. It would have gotten the point across that he was not to continue pushing Miovska like that. They were so close, and the vampire seemed far too keen on their proximity to one another. Any moment, he was going to reach out and grab the Gancanagh, forcing his head to turn so that he could sink his teeth into what he must have assumed would be an incredibly delicious neck. What would he do to all of the people who witnessed it, though? Would he kill them? Or would he simply hope that they would all assume that it was some kind of lover's situation?

Panic stricken, Kaldrielle didn't move, his eyes wide, holding fast to the man whom was clutching at the bar stool the fae was sat upon. He could feel no warmth from the vampire, and it brought a soft shiver down his back. And as Miovska started speaking again, the Gancanagh swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Was that some kind of lure for vampires? Much like a lure for fish. Drawing them in.

Miovska repeated the question, carrying it out over a few different ways that it could have been meant, and Kaldrielle knew that he wanted the answer to every single iteration. But before he could say anything, the vampire had relinquished his grip and moved back, giving the fae male his own personal bubble again. His own instincts caused him to shift back a bit as well, and he looked towards the server, unable to smile even at her.

He turned his gaze back towards the sire vampire, waiting a moment, his face much more neutral, save for his eyes. They were far too much like windows to the soul, and they clearly revealed a man who had been rattled so thoroughly. If the vampire were to catch on to that, no doubt he would have been quite pleased. Or at least that was the assumption that Kal had. Should Miovska become at all aware of just how much terror he was able to invoke in him, he probably would have been quite pleased indeed. It showed that he did have power over his newly bargained for toy. Sickening.

This was one of those times where he found that it was better for him to say nothing at all than to continue with more questions, and to assume anything. The vampire claimed that he was interested in the Gancanagh's powers, but for a reason different from what it was that Kal would most likely assume. So he would allow him to explain further without anymore interruption, breaking his gaze to look at the drink that was put down before him, and offering the server as grateful of a look as he could muster. If he didn't want Miovska to be in his personal space again, baring teeth, or saying things in that tone that suggested he was absolutely delighted and ready to dive into the curve of the fae's neck, then he would have to play his part the best that he could. No matter how damn unpleasant it may be.

If he needed information and he wasn't able to get it himself... Kal's lips tightened again. He didn't want to do or say anything to bring about a smack across his face, or worse. But the way that the vampire had been doing things so far, he had a feeling that punishments wouldn't be gratuitous right off the bat. There seemed to be some kind of enjoyment from doing things in a very subtle approach for now. He could only imagine what sort of torture he was saving for later. And he would much rather keep it as images in his mind only, for as long as he possibly could.

"So you want me to find out things for you. And you know what I can do, which means that you hope I'll joyfully seduce said information out of the people you need it from." He kept a neutral expression on his face, even though the idea of carrying out that sort of task for this new master was not at all something he enjoyed the thought of. "And I'm guessing that it's from humans. What kind of information could you possibly want from humans that concerns you?"

He had to admit that there was definitely intelligence behind the vampire's actions, warning him that he might have to choose ways to avoid telling his new pet certain things. Obviously if Kal were to start asking things that could help him escape from this situation, Miovska would want to temper what he said. But then Kal figured he would have to be pretty stupid to try to do something so bold immediately.

"And what short term plans do you have? Do you plan on.. feeding from me? Or using my body for other... means?" He was able to refrain from curling his lip, or showing any other physical signs of disgust at the thought.
 
Miovska wrapped the thick of his fingers about the cool tumbler, drawing the crystal closer as he glanced down at the red liquor within. The corner of his mouth twitched, the beginnings of a subdued smile, as he took in Kal's curt words.

"Joyfully? No," the Sire ran his tongue along the sharp of his teeth, before bringing the cocktail up for a sip as he met Kal's warm eyes. Setting the tumbler down with a gentle knock, he added; "I haven't fooled myself into thinking you'd joyfully do anything for me. At least in the beginning. I merely hope that you and I may come to an understanding that we both need things from one another."

Kal had been momentarily quiet, and Miovska wondered if the man before him was scheming. Instead, it seemed, the Gancanagh was anticipating his future tasks and whom, exactly, he'd be asked to lure and seduce. "Humans," Miovska said casually, "yes, but also others. I have an idea of where I would like to start, but I'm willing to follow the threads of information; wherever they may take us."

Shrugging a shoulder, the vampire considered his words as he looked from Kal to the glimmering river. "Information is a means to an end, no? It's never the final goal." Taking another swig of the dark liquor, Miovska let it settle upon his tongue, let it linger within his mouth, before he swallowed deeply and sighed between parted lips. "Information is just as much a tool as you or I. I simply need your help achieving it."

Kal's almost innocent question had Miovska smirking out at the river. The pad of his thumb swept over the perspiring crystal, capturing a droplet and smearing it. Turning upon his stool, his knee sliding higher up the side of Kal's own, Miovska turned to completely face the Gancanagh. Dark eyes lingered upon the man's face, lowering once to the seam of his mouth, before rising to meet that bitter glare. If Miovska was honest, Kal's bratty resentment fucking turned him on.

"Unlike most, and unlike my reputation," Miovska spoke lowly, drawing forward, "I much prefer my lovers to be eagerly active, and willing participants when I fuck them." His elbow set atop the bench, one knee against Kal's hip while the inside of his other leg was spread and pushed in against Kal's knees. He sat close, perhaps too close, but lingered. "I will not feed from you, nor will I fuck you, unless you want me to. I have other means for both."

Dark, dangerous eyes flickered down to the side of Kal's throat, lingering upon the olive skin and the trill of the pulse just beneath. The song of the man's heart was intoxicating. It came steady, and as a promise of rich, sweetened blood.

"As a warning, though," Miovska dragged his eyes back to meet the honey warm of Kal's own, "feeding and fucking often come hand in hand. There's a certain kind of sensuality to the former. So, be careful when you ask me for one; as you'll likely end up with both."

It took everything within him to pull himself away. While Miovska leant back, the vampire did not shift his legs. He remained sitting on the edge of his stool, Kal between his legs, as he leant to the side just slightly against the bench. No longer interested in the shimmer of the river, Kal held the vampire's attention entirely.

"What things should I know about you to keep you healthy while with me?" Miovska's question deviated from his previous perversion. "I know the Fae are effected by iron, in varying degrees. Is that true for you, and to what degree?"
 
It seemed sort of odd, that out of everything that he might have wanted the Gancanagh for, it was for his ability to seduce individuals so that he could get some information out of him. He would have thought that his vampire children would have been able to get the information that was needed. Which only showed how incredibly unaware of things he was, and how much he really did not know or understand about Miovska. Perhaps that would greatly benefit the vampire.

He did not wish to suggest that he was the least bit interested in becoming an eager and active participant in fucking with the vampire. There was no way he could see that happening ever. But then he did know that there was only so much time that he could go through without having sex at all, and if the vampire kept him on a short leash... where the hell else was he supposed to get it? As a fae species where a lot of his power came from lust, it was in his nature to be predisposed to the carnal needs that plagued the worst of them all. One of the perks that he had serving in the fae queen's court was his ability in receiving many visitors to his bed chambers. And it was only to be expected.

Again, the beat of his heart picked up, and he knew that it was something Miovska would be able to hear. No matter how much he tried to calm himself, he could not, and this only seemed to heighten the degree of anxiety he felt. It was something that he had been worried about. Emotions getting the better of him, able to be smelled by the vampire. There was very little he would be able to hide when he was in the man's presence.

"Well I suppose it's a good thing I do not plan on asking you for either," he said, his eyes unable to look at the other's. And he could not even begin to think of a reason as to why he would actually wish for the other to drink from him. Even if he loathed the thought of asking for the vampire to fuck him, he could see it happening potentially, if he were weak enough. If he desperately needed to feel that kind of thing with another. But he would do his best to avoid that. No doubt he would have to get information from handsome men, and he would be sure to do his best in taking care of his more horny needs from them. Surely that would help alleviate such concerns.

His lips pulled together. Why the hell did Miovska wish to pretend that he actually cared about what it was that Kal really needed in order to properly survived? Just as long as he was there to do as he needed, right? Or was this some lame ass ploy to get him to let his guard down, and maybe start to give in and end up on his knees before the night was through?

"You mean that you know what you've been told about fae." He was at least mostly calm again, although there was still some of that anxiousness with having the other so close to him. "But only cold iron has any affect on me, and it simply renders me unable to utilize my magic. And it can contain me quite handily. Let me warn you now, however, that if I see so much as a speck of it, I will immediately flee."

The Gancanagh picked up his glass and drained the last of the alcohol in it. "And I also need at least some sense of personal freedom." Maybe he could actually position himself a bit better than he currently felt he was. "Allowed to go where I please, for the most part. With the understanding that I do have to check in at specific points."
 
The lurch of a heartbeat came to Miovska's ears. Beating wildly, the trill of it was a hypnotic song within the chest of the Gancanagh. The Gancanagh's firm statement of never wishing Miovska to feed from or fuck him did not pair truthfully with the speed of his heartbeat. If he hadn't been dead, it would have had something hot pooling low within Miovska's belly. Instead, the vampire felt the tangling knot of need settle low in his loins. A hunger for both the blood and the warmth of the man before him.

Miovska looked away to the river and sculled the rest of his drink.

"Mm," was all that he hummed. Because, while Kal spoke so certainly, Miovska wasn't so sure.

The water of the river sparkled, beautiful. It glimmered beneath the high of the moon and the luminescence of the surrounding, towering city. High within skyscrapers, lights remained on; some working on despite the fall of the evening, and others awake within their homes. Their reflections glittered like stars across the steadily flowing surface of the river, otherwise dark with its depths. Still, beautiful as it was, it wasn't what truly held Miovska's attention.

Those dark eyes swept back to Kal, searching his face before falling upon the seam of his lips as he watched them form words. As Kal spoke his request for personal freedom, a little bold, the corner of Miovska's mouth tugged upward in a smirk, revealing a fang. "A little presumptuous of you, isn't it?" Slowly, his gaze shifted upward, catching the cold glimmer within Kal's eyes. "To assume that something like that is to be granted before it's earned."

The knock of the drained tumbler came upon the wood, but Miovska didn't look away from that burning spite swirling within the depths of Kal's eyes. "I have no reason to trust that you'll return to me," Miovska admitted, albeit a little smug. "What reason do I have to grant you a lick of personal freedom when I risk far too much than what I'd gain?"

A tight leash, Miovska knew, always inspired rebellion. As with everything, there needed to be balance; give and take, a push and pull. Kal, however, did not need to learn the inner workings of Miovska's mind. To the Gancanagh, Miovska needed to remain ruthless, callous, if not a little sadistic. The assumption of such would be useful when the time came.

"Iron, however, I can be rid of," Miovska answered nonchalantly. In truth, he'd already made the preparations in anticipation of Kal's arrival; ridding his home of anything containing iron.

He didn't need to signal for another drink. Their empty tumblers were taken and replaced with freshly filled crystal, baring the same rich red cocktail. This time, however, Miovska's was a little thicker than Kal's. As he took his glass in hand, drinking deeply, Miovska set it back down. He leant into his elbow, his cheek in his palm, as he held Kal with a contemplative look. The cool of his other hand found the edge of Kal's shirt collar; running it between his forefinger and thumb.

"Throwing rice on the floor won't get me to count it," Miovska confessed, a conspiratorial smirk pulling at his mouth. "Holy water doesn't exist. I can enter churches as I please. Mirrors certainly do grant me a reflection. The blood of virgins is no sweeter than a whore's. Do with that as you may, Kal."

Still, he stared, those dark eyes roaming Kal's face in an appreciatively slow sweep. "Do you have a lover within your Queen's Court that you'll miss?" His smirk had fallen, but the light within his eyes remained all the same.
 
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