Heart to heart should not involve pointed sticks.
"... a shame that he would leave you all alone, hmm?" I hope that sounded as ominous as I meant it to. If I had a heart it would have been beating like a jackhammer. Finally, I had some 'alone' time with my father's little whore.
She smiles, all shy and demure. Lying little bitch. "I suppose that depends." She tries to exit, chirping a pleasant, "You mind letting me by?"
"I thought we could chat for a moment or three ... " I can feel a smirk grow on my face, feeling her beast pulse beneath the 50's sitcom exterior. "... you may have my Sire fooled with that demure act ... but he is of another age ... and often sees what he wants to see .... So how about you do me the honor of dealing with me honestly ...." It all comes down to that, now doesn't it … all I ever ask is to be dealt with fairly. No one seems to get that. "Any truly 'blushing' flower would be shaking and begging to be allowed to go about her business were I to come on so strong, not once but twice ... "
"I suppose you're right," Mae replies, her voice utterly flat and without the barest lilt to indicate she is really admitting to anything. Her eyes are hard, bearing into mine. Alright, so part of me is a little turned on … only one chick has ever really stood up to me … and Ava is … well Ava. "Funny that. You suppose I'm in the business of fooling people, then?"
I step in just a hair, moving into her recently reduced comfort zone, "Tell me that you are not. You are Carthian ... not the sorts, from what I have heard, to roll over and bear their ... " I smile, licking my lips softly, allowing the silence to just become uncomfortable, then " ... necks."
She seems to start putting together the score, not the brightest chick on the planet, but even Sudra can be taught. "So first, it was my dirty Sudra blood," she says carefully, trying to keep her emotion from her voice … something she is having less of a easy time keeping from her face. "Now it's my political alignment... I wonder, Sunda, if I stand a chance of you running out of reasons in time for us to be friends."
"Now that's the ticket ... That is what I was looking for ... " I step in closer, bringing my body scandalously close to hers, close to where my father has … um laid his claim, "I have no issue with your politics, Mae ... just making an observation ... that it and your demure..." making air quotes with my fingers "... demeanor do not gel, at least in my mind." Much like my father, I lean in close, allowing my breath to touch her neck, letting her feel my words rather than hear them. "I don't handle being dealt with unfairly very well ... and you do such by pretending to be something you're not."
"I understand." The reply is not offered in the same low whispers as she tries to salvage some sort of difference. Her voice stays quiet but the words are clear. Our almost intimate nearness shows me the rigidity in her flesh, the muscles tense and offended at being approached so closely, yet she works hard to allow nothing else to slip through. "You must know a great deal about /my/ politics, then, to pick me out as a counterfeit so quickly."
I shake my head, my fangs coming close to her pure, white throat, "... or I am making a huge, horrible lapse in judgment ... " I laughed softly, her scent filing my senses, "Not the first nor the last for me, sadly ... " Stepping back, having proved my point, "I'm just saying that starting a relationship on deception can lead to consequences ... but tribulation brings enlightenment ... as the Crone say … or it could be that I have a decidedly poor outlook on the honesty of the 'fairer' of the species, so to speak."
"You think I'm being dishonest with your father? Or you? Because..."
"A little bit of column A ... a little bit of column B ... " I lean against the sink, playing absently with her unmentionables in a very intimate ... perhaps disrespectful gesture. "But I interrupted you, Dear 'Mother' ... because what?"
She does not seem to let it bother her, "You tell me. Why I might decide to slip in next to a pair like yourselves, and get everything off to such a terrible start on purpose."
"Perhaps deception is something you excel at ... perhaps it is hard coded in your gender ... My father is a very bright man ... but not a child of the modern age ... he expects his women to be as they were when he was breathing ... I know better ... I know that modern women are deceitful, hateful and full of venom ... " All of this is said with a smile on my face, in as much of a cheerful voice as I can muster. " ... whatever you are selling, my father is buying ... I just want to make sure that he's getting his money's worth."
"Do you share his taste, or do you prefer the venom?"
"I know the truth ... I grew up in Modern America ... I know what to expect." I frown as I feel my beast begin to rise. How do I allow this chick to get the best of me … where did the tide turn?
"From women?" Mae's tone softens, giving way to dialog rather than confrontational rhetoric. The arch of her brow even creeps back down towards a more relaxed state. "All of them?"
I /really/ need to take control back. "All. Of. Them."
"Had a rough time of it, then?"
"This is not about me ... Can't you drop the act for one minute?"
"Alright... the /act/, then." She holds her hands out in a submissive gesture that I don't buy for a minute. "I care for your father very much, Sunda. It seems that either I'll end up being good to him, and... hopefully... eventually... getting on just fine with you. Or … you'll be right." She nods, once, her look turning something a touch more inquisitive before she asks, "Why are you so intent on the latter?"
"I am not intent on anything ... you just seem too ... um ... nice. No woman is nice ... not today ... and certainly not a lick … You are hiding something ... or your crazy .... and I don't know which."
"Well, given the two options... Look, I know there isn't anything I can say to you to change your mind. If you're on 'all women are evil', then it's quite a bit bigger than just me. But I'm not in the business of upsetting people, so... is there anything for it, or shall I keep myself out of your way?"
I fear that this answer does not have the reaction she intended (or maybe it does). I feel my beast surge, frustration with this conversation, with the 'other' woman in my life I can feel my fist clench of its own accord, the soft 'pop' of blue flesh pierced by my own claws. I hear myself roar, "Stop!" Looking for an outlet to afford me a few more seconds … to help her understand why I am about to beat her into a fine red mist, I slam my fist into the sink, breaking a large chunk of porcelain loose, sending it crashing to the floor. A wide crack appears in its surface from the blow. "Stop pretending! Stop accommodating! Be your fucking self!" … and then I let go … I accept what is going to happen … something I understand … something that I enjoy, my voice drops low, almost a growl, "Or so help me, I'll beat it out of you."
"My fucking /self/, Sunda, puts up the curtains, and doesn't mind you making insane accusations because you're /wrong/. Believe that or don't. But you put one hand on me, and you're going to have another set of clothes to wash."
Now this is what /I'm/ talking about. I smile slowly, where my expressions up to this point boded ill but still held a trace of humor, this one is devoid. It is the smile of a grave digger, satisfied that for at least one more night, his family would be fed. Cold. Hard. Satisfied. No more posturing. No more two toned words. Only blood. Only pain. Only violence. Again, that cold voice, "Now we're fucking talking, Sweetheart ... can you feel it? The 'Real You' pulsing in your veins? Pounding against your mind to get out of that pathetic June Cleaver shell ... you want to scrap with me ... you /need/ to scrap with me ... it's what I like to call ye ol' Moral Imperative." Pulling upon the lessons learned in the homeland, taught by an ancestor who knew the Demon King, I begin to bring my demon soul to the fore. I can feel my very bones twist and stretch, struggling to be free of this blue skinned prison.
"I don't /need/," she glowers, the snarling words fang-tipped as she sets bare feet firmly into the floor, "anything from you. I know. Exactly. What I am." With that bold statement … she runs like a scared little girl.