[The problem with cats: they like to play with their food.
In the grand scheme of metaphor, it could be that simple, except it's simpler still: sometimes, Daphne is a bit of a bitch. She's relentlessly, regularly, and almost absurdly kind to children, the elderly, and idiots, so what ends up happening is that she turns on a dime even to those she likes.
And it's also not that simple, either. She just has a cat's curiosity and a thrill at attention, so when she hears of a new submissive, a man with strong cheekbones and a nose like a blade, fighting in the arena, she turns up because she knows who it is. She scans the fight - it's another submissive he's fighting next, some local with a pretty face and a brutal body, and she can't quite help herself. To begin, she's never seen him fight, and she wants to. She wants to reassure herself that he really could be what she sees in him - a kindred spirit, something wild and untamed.
She sees Charles getting ready, and she's not sure if it's the desire to see if Charles will be jealous, or just to rile him up at the thought of her trying to make him that way, but she raises up on her tiptoes to flirt, her smile pretty, her dimples showing, as she touches the other submissive on the arm and tells him something soft in his ear.
Whatever she says has him flush and her smile turns a little predatory, and she settles back to find a spot to watch the fight.
Whenever it ends, whoever wins, she's waiting for Charles.]
[ There isn't a woman on New Providence Island who can be trusted not to fuck with a man's head if given half an incentive, so it doesn't escape him, what Daphne is doing. But that doesn't mean he's immune to its effects. Just knowing that she's even trying to fuck with him is enough to make his eyes narrow - but there's no snarling or snapping of teeth, even if his lip curls for just a moment like he might.
If she wants a show, she'll get it.
He lets the other man, fired up by the attention, come to him; the first punch thrown is dodged, and the second punch thrown is Vane's, with his whole body behind it, a vicious hook that sends his opponent to the ground. To Pretty Boy's credit, he rolls right back to his feet and launches into him, getting two into his stomach before Vane cracks an elbow across his face, and what certainly wasn't likely to be a polite little boxing match dissolves quite quickly into a brawl.
Vane fights ugly. It's one of the first things to notice, because he makes it clear quite quickly: go down and stay down. There's only one king on this mountain. But even if he's not above taking cheap shots to get the upper hand, the way he throws his whole body into every assault and so rarely bothers to defend speaks to a deeply primal form of dominance - the kind rooted in survival. ]
[She watches, her mouth opening after a moment, just a little as she breathes in the air. Her eyes turn, shifting from dark brown to golden, then back, then again, and she's clearly into this. He fights beautifully - no fancy grace, no pretty style, but like a man who learned to fight to survive and does it now.
She watches and she starts to pace as the fight goes on, on the edge of the ring. When the fight is called she slips to the edge, perches so she can whisper in Vane's ear, coming up right behind him
Her voice is low and deep.]
I told him if he won, I'd let him eat me out.
[She hums.]
Guess it wasn't the incentive I thought. Or you're just that good, lion.
[ The other guy put up a decent fight, but now he's the one getting his friends to help him out of the arena while Vane has to deal with this demon over here. ]
And why'd you tell him that?
[ He doesn't sound pissed, but it's definitely a challenge, one he's primed to display after years facing off with Eleanor, the bristling fights that said I know what you're doing to me, so that means what I do about it is my choice. ]
Did you want him to eat you out? Or did you just want me to entertain you?
[She stay there, close enough that he could turn his head and catch her mouth if he wanted to, and close enough that they can have this conversation without anyone else hearing. Things are getting ready; money is changing hands, so they have some time, if Charles decides he wants to fight another match or not.]
I didn't really want his mouth anywhere near me.
[She drops her chin, so it lands on his shoulder.]
I wanted to see you fight someone who actually had something to lose.
[ At first he pretends he doesn't even notice how close she is. But when she comes that close, he reaches up to catch her chin with his fingers, and turns his head so he can give her a sharp little kiss. ]
How much did you like it, tigress?
[ He draws back enough for his eyes to flash at her. ]
He knows what she can do, too. This isnāt an ignorant, thoughtless challenge from a man whoās never seen her fight. That kiss was sharp and sweet like a bite.
[ He straightens up a little, moves away and turns around so he can face her, with an open swagger to his challenge now. If he had fangs, she'd see them in his smirk.
Could she crush his spine with one hand? Probably. But would she is the question he's banking on. ]
[She eyes him for a moment. She's faster than him, stronger than him, with quicker reflexes. But being the Sher Khan isn't all about strength and who can beat who in a fight. It's about politics and cunning, too, about strength of will and the ability to navigate shifter political currents.
And more critically: she's handicapped, in a way. She can't actually use her full strength, or her full rage, because it's too easy to accidentally kill him.
She moves into the ring.]
If I win, you get on your knees for me, here, in front of everyone.
[She says it softly enough that he can back out if he wants, still, she's close enough that it's hard to tell if she's looking him over for wounds or challenging him.]
[ Despite being the one who willingly issued the challenge, Vane still takes note of her unspoken offer to reconsider, and gives it one more moment of serious thought.
But, there's no one here he needs to impress, no one that he couldn't beat if he had to, or could beat him almost as easily as she could. And he'd learned rather recently that it's not always the worst thing in the world to cede authority to someone who can be trusted to use it for mutual benefit.
Besides that, he can recognize the value of trading a smaller defeat for a greater victory. He knows she'll beat him. He just wants to see how.
[She smiles, just a little, and it's a feral look. Like a predator baring her teeth, as much as it's a woman looking forward to a fuck.
She nods her head over to the man running the fight, and once she gets the signal from him, she moves in a blur, one arm coming like a bar to his chest in a clothesline that threatens to topple him.
The fight, or what she's aiming for, is something clean; nothing that would leave a taste of tease or the kind of fight that would make anyone think that he was weak for losing. She moves with that certainty, that strength. Every move is brutal, but there's no pretty artistry to it.]
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no subject
In the grand scheme of metaphor, it could be that simple, except it's simpler still: sometimes, Daphne is a bit of a bitch. She's relentlessly, regularly, and almost absurdly kind to children, the elderly, and idiots, so what ends up happening is that she turns on a dime even to those she likes.
And it's also not that simple, either. She just has a cat's curiosity and a thrill at attention, so when she hears of a new submissive, a man with strong cheekbones and a nose like a blade, fighting in the arena, she turns up because she knows who it is. She scans the fight - it's another submissive he's fighting next, some local with a pretty face and a brutal body, and she can't quite help herself. To begin, she's never seen him fight, and she wants to. She wants to reassure herself that he really could be what she sees in him - a kindred spirit, something wild and untamed.
She sees Charles getting ready, and she's not sure if it's the desire to see if Charles will be jealous, or just to rile him up at the thought of her trying to make him that way, but she raises up on her tiptoes to flirt, her smile pretty, her dimples showing, as she touches the other submissive on the arm and tells him something soft in his ear.
Whatever she says has him flush and her smile turns a little predatory, and she settles back to find a spot to watch the fight.
Whenever it ends, whoever wins, she's waiting for Charles.]
no subject
If she wants a show, she'll get it.
He lets the other man, fired up by the attention, come to him; the first punch thrown is dodged, and the second punch thrown is Vane's, with his whole body behind it, a vicious hook that sends his opponent to the ground. To Pretty Boy's credit, he rolls right back to his feet and launches into him, getting two into his stomach before Vane cracks an elbow across his face, and what certainly wasn't likely to be a polite little boxing match dissolves quite quickly into a brawl.
Vane fights ugly. It's one of the first things to notice, because he makes it clear quite quickly: go down and stay down. There's only one king on this mountain. But even if he's not above taking cheap shots to get the upper hand, the way he throws his whole body into every assault and so rarely bothers to defend speaks to a deeply primal form of dominance - the kind rooted in survival. ]
no subject
She watches and she starts to pace as the fight goes on, on the edge of the ring. When the fight is called she slips to the edge, perches so she can whisper in Vane's ear, coming up right behind him
Her voice is low and deep.]
I told him if he won, I'd let him eat me out.
[She hums.]
Guess it wasn't the incentive I thought. Or you're just that good, lion.
no subject
And why'd you tell him that?
[ He doesn't sound pissed, but it's definitely a challenge, one he's primed to display after years facing off with Eleanor, the bristling fights that said I know what you're doing to me, so that means what I do about it is my choice. ]
Did you want him to eat you out? Or did you just want me to entertain you?
no subject
I didn't really want his mouth anywhere near me.
[She drops her chin, so it lands on his shoulder.]
I wanted to see you fight someone who actually had something to lose.
I liked to watch you move.
no subject
How much did you like it, tigress?
[ He draws back enough for his eyes to flash at her. ]
Enough to meet me in this ring yourself?
no subject
He knows what she can do, too. This isnāt an ignorant, thoughtless challenge from a man whoās never seen her fight. That kiss was sharp and sweet like a bite.
She takes a pause, but then she nods.]
What do you want if you win?
no subject
[ He straightens up a little, moves away and turns around so he can face her, with an open swagger to his challenge now. If he had fangs, she'd see them in his smirk.
Could she crush his spine with one hand? Probably. But would she is the question he's banking on. ]
...I want to hear you beg.
no subject
And more critically: she's handicapped, in a way. She can't actually use her full strength, or her full rage, because it's too easy to accidentally kill him.
She moves into the ring.]
If I win, you get on your knees for me, here, in front of everyone.
[She says it softly enough that he can back out if he wants, still, she's close enough that it's hard to tell if she's looking him over for wounds or challenging him.]
no subject
But, there's no one here he needs to impress, no one that he couldn't beat if he had to, or could beat him almost as easily as she could. And he'd learned rather recently that it's not always the worst thing in the world to cede authority to someone who can be trusted to use it for mutual benefit.
Besides that, he can recognize the value of trading a smaller defeat for a greater victory. He knows she'll beat him. He just wants to see how.
So he gives her a sharp little smirk. ]
Deal.
no subject
She nods her head over to the man running the fight, and once she gets the signal from him, she moves in a blur, one arm coming like a bar to his chest in a clothesline that threatens to topple him.
The fight, or what she's aiming for, is something clean; nothing that would leave a taste of tease or the kind of fight that would make anyone think that he was weak for losing. She moves with that certainty, that strength. Every move is brutal, but there's no pretty artistry to it.]