Fair one...although this is something she thinks silently to herself rather than vocalising, because fuck allowing her captor to know that anything she says might be fair. Instead she only scowls, lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl, a look that says yes, she'd bite and rip and tear with her teeth if she has to. Even if laughter does threaten to bubble out of her the moment Lenore’s rosebud mouth forms the words tit-ripping. She holds it together, maintains her furious poise.
Until Lenore's words sink down past her anger, that is. Gideon remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes are narrowed and calculating, sure, but there's the touch of confusion around their outer edges, in the sudden parting of her lips. Because even back in her own Kingdom she'd never been offered anything quite so shockingly decadent; her room had been a mean little cell, windowless and chill even during the summer months, devoid of anything one would call comfort. The castle itself had been only one step up from a ruin, with crumbling catacombs and cold water pumped up from a mustily-scented well. Her own King and Queen had never once offered her softness - she had, in fact, once been whipped bloody for committing the crime of touching a corner of King Priamhark's robe as a child - and therefore this new tactic quietly blindsides her.
"And then what?" she says at length, her tone crisp with incredulity, "where's the catch? You already said you're not gonna kill me-- which I’m not dumb enough to buy into, by the way. So what happens when you move me up to your fancy-ass room and I still give you sweet fuck all?"
Impossible that there isn't some terrible fate lurking behind this...but the water has done little to slough of the worst of the filth, her skin itches, and now she's fucking freezing to boot.
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Until Lenore's words sink down past her anger, that is. Gideon remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes are narrowed and calculating, sure, but there's the touch of confusion around their outer edges, in the sudden parting of her lips. Because even back in her own Kingdom she'd never been offered anything quite so shockingly decadent; her room had been a mean little cell, windowless and chill even during the summer months, devoid of anything one would call comfort. The castle itself had been only one step up from a ruin, with crumbling catacombs and cold water pumped up from a mustily-scented well. Her own King and Queen had never once offered her softness - she had, in fact, once been whipped bloody for committing the crime of touching a corner of King Priamhark's robe as a child - and therefore this new tactic quietly blindsides her.
"And then what?" she says at length, her tone crisp with incredulity, "where's the catch? You already said you're not gonna kill me-- which I’m not dumb enough to buy into, by the way. So what happens when you move me up to your fancy-ass room and I still give you sweet fuck all?"
Impossible that there isn't some terrible fate lurking behind this...but the water has done little to slough of the worst of the filth, her skin itches, and now she's fucking freezing to boot.