Beggars can't be choosers

He thought he had been doing a pretty damn good job being diplomatic and making their offers to Scylla pleasantly, but that apparently wasn't good enough for the Klein fae. Those mismatched eyes narrowed as if she were scrutinizing his every word and then demanded to know what he specifically was willing to do to keep her around. Saracyn's brow furrowed as he leered at the striped fae. What the hell did she mean by that? She didn't do a great job extrapolating on her demands either, restating what they stood to lose if they failed to persuade them to stay. Yes, he was acutely aware of what was at stake here, thank you very fucking much. Staring eye to eye with one another again, Scylla continued on, almost goading him into aggravation by taunting him with their circumstances.

Scylla stated the obvious—by staying, they would both need to play nice with each other. Making amends may not be in the cards, but civility would be. "I figured that went without saying, but if you need that reassurance, then yes, I have no intentions to cause you or your brothers any grief." Sara's head tilted to match the same direction of Scylla's, maintaining their eye contact throughout. "And I don't 'look down' on your brother. I wasn't happy with him sticking his dick in my sister. But now that that's no longer a concern, I have no issues with him. I will play nice with Albion so long as you don't make any trouble for Avacyn." In his adolescence, Saracyn might have been haughtier, with a holier-than-thou mentality around his family. Time and experience had tempered some of that wild youthful aggression. Avacyn wouldn't have had anything to do with him if he continued to make an ass of himself, especially if he was going to be her partner in leadership.

But that still left the matter of what she even bloody wanted to stick around. Gods be damned, why couldn't this frustration little raccoon-looking wolf just come out and say what she wanted?! "What the fuck do you even want, Scylla?" he asked with a huff, dropping his head down onto the rock with a heavy thud so their faces were mere inches apart. "You have everything you need to make you happy. Do you want a cave all to yourself for your little workshop of horrors? Do you want me to be your servant or whore for a day or something? Do you want to cut off one of my toes? Do you want to drug me up and blow me again? There's only so much I have that I can give you. I'm not some rich monarch like your family. I don't have treasures to offer. I'm just a fucking extra Mendacium with all the wrong parts between my legs to matter." Saracyn had vented about his frustrations around his family's matriarchal preferences and how worthless he felt before, so he didn't care if he said it again. This would be no surprise to her. Whatever she wanted from him, her pound of flesh would have to literally be that—taken from his body. He had little else to offer her.

"Saracyn" & "Scylla"