The plate of cookies is full of poison. Bloody, nasty poison. The vampire doesn't look at him immediately. His gaze stays forward, the dancing light of the street reflected in his eyes like distant firelight.
"You are not being robbed of fun. You are being spared consequence. A barred door is not always hiding treasure," he says calmly in a level, even tone. "Sometimes it is keeping something in." At last, he glances to Crow, expression carefully blank, unreadable and impassive.
"And the men who decide to pick the lock rarely live long enough to regret their curiosity." A warning, though one not issued for anything but the other's safety; he cannot guarantee the satiation of the Beast. The way it howls within; a predator that can never be sated. It is only through keeping mortals at arm's length that he can truly keep them safe. Phyre studies him for a moment longer than necessary, as though deciding something.
"Men who romanticize danger tend to forget that danger is not there to entertain them." He murmurs after a long moment - his voice threatening to be lost in the bustle of the city.
He steps just a fraction closer as they walk, voice still low enough to feel deliberate.
"You are free to flirt if you must. But understand this - every liberty I grant you exists only because I continue to find you... Tolerable. Do not mistake that for safety." Each word underscores the danger. Every opportunity for Crow to take his leave is there, even if he chooses not to. The treasure hiding behind those chains and bars is ugly, fanged, clawed. Something so terrible even he feels it must stay locked behind the walls. Turning his gaze across the city - which threatens to close in on them further, forcing him into closer quarters once again with the flitting flirt - he draws in on himself just a little further.
"What lies behind my doors is not gold," he says at last, a faint tinge of regret lingering behind his eyes if Crow looks close enough to notice. Only death and centuries of agony.
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"You are not being robbed of fun. You are being spared consequence. A barred door is not always hiding treasure," he says calmly in a level, even tone. "Sometimes it is keeping something in." At last, he glances to Crow, expression carefully blank, unreadable and impassive.
"And the men who decide to pick the lock rarely live long enough to regret their curiosity." A warning, though one not issued for anything but the other's safety; he cannot guarantee the satiation of the Beast. The way it howls within; a predator that can never be sated. It is only through keeping mortals at arm's length that he can truly keep them safe. Phyre studies him for a moment longer than necessary, as though deciding something.
"Men who romanticize danger tend to forget that danger is not there to entertain them." He murmurs after a long moment - his voice threatening to be lost in the bustle of the city.
He steps just a fraction closer as they walk, voice still low enough to feel deliberate.
"You are free to flirt if you must. But understand this - every liberty I grant you exists only because I continue to find you... Tolerable. Do not mistake that for safety." Each word underscores the danger. Every opportunity for Crow to take his leave is there, even if he chooses not to. The treasure hiding behind those chains and bars is ugly, fanged, clawed. Something so terrible even he feels it must stay locked behind the walls. Turning his gaze across the city - which threatens to close in on them further, forcing him into closer quarters once again with the flitting flirt - he draws in on himself just a little further.
"What lies behind my doors is not gold," he says at last, a faint tinge of regret lingering behind his eyes if Crow looks close enough to notice. Only death and centuries of agony.