The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[Zevran]

Zevran studies her, brow furrowed, and no attempt made to hide the way he's trying to peel back any and all masks to get at the truth he is sure she is hiding. Despite the length and breadth of her offer and explanation, his reply back is downright miserly.

"Why?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I was not given this choice when I was given to Varisia," she says quietly.

[Zevran]

Bull shifts uneasily, eyes scanning the room despite it being the most secure in the entire house-- at least, if Varisia is counted as one of the forces to be secured against. "If you could do such for another, then why are you still here?" he challenges her sharply, though there's something more than just surface emotion or that almost undead glaze in his eyes.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I can get you out of the house. I cannot prevent her from finding you once you have gone. Nor can I make you wish to leave." She rakes a hand through her hair, fingers curling briefly around the hairpin before she lets go. "Make no mistake: Varisia has been a good wife to me all these years. And I would not leave my children, nor would I not have had them. This is my life now, however it began, and it is a happy one. But the idea of doing to someone what she did to me to get us here sits uneasy with me."

[Zevran]

Zevran leans back, eyes shadowed before they blank to neutral. "I suppose there is no reason why a slave, even a broken one, cannot wear a title as easily as chains," he says, voice pitched low but audible enough to Coquette.

[Coquette Blacquin]

She stiffens, but moves to sip her tea instead, giving him no other sign that she heard him. 

[Zevran]

He nods slowly, then reaches out to take a single grape with the air of one offering, not a concession, but rather an indication that cooperation might possibly be on the table. Which would be lovely, and would pair well with the fluffy cat that leaps up in clear disregard for the serious of the conversation the food-givers are having. Announcing herself with a loud, feline curse, Justina winds her way over to Coquette and stares at her demandingly. "Yrrrmrrr."

[Coquette Blacquin]

Her face softens, and she reaches out to scratch Justine in just the right place, under her chin. "Good girl," she purrs. "Whose my favorite girl?" 

[Zevran]

Justina closes her eyes and purrs, for about six seconds. Her need to be paid attention to fulfilled, her distaste for all other living (or unliving) things asserts itself and she bites Coquette's finger. It's more prefunctory than aggressive and Coquette doesn't even bother to try and avoid the painless attack. Satisfied by the state of things, the cat moves away to sit in the center of the table and resumes purring loudly.

"...her face," Zevran murmurs after the show is over. "Her fur hides them, but she has a great many scars there. Thin, rows of four, claws. She is even more wary of the other cats than mortals. And she distrusts food." He trails off there, clearly expecting Coquette to explain, though his tone suggests he knows but doesn't entirely accept the most likely reason. Nobles simply don't do that sort of thing, not in his world.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"All of my cats were strays. Alley cats. I found Justinia last time I went to the Bastion temple, hiding behind the building, sick almost to death from some poisoned food -- we think perhaps she got into something set out to bait rats. I nursed her back to health, and won over enough of her trust for her to make a suitable housecat."

[Zevran]

Zevran studies her for a moment, then hums softly. "Not rats, nor poison. Nor deadly poison, I would wager," he says softly. "She is not just a survivor but a fighter. I have seen such behavior and such patterns of scars like hers before; in pit fighter slaves." He opens his eyes, the movement just then making her realize he's keep them closed for most of the conversation. Mostly closed at least, as he does seem to look at her, though he could be just pretending to do so for some reason. "She distrusts cats, she distrusts mortals, but most of all, she distrusts when they are together. Especially Tommance, the largest of the other cats by a considerable margin. And especially your head maid and your scribe, the only two gnomes I have seen." 

He fumbles there, gaze going askance, and he clears his throat softly before he offers an awkward explanation for how much focus he's evidently put towards discovering the housecat's life story. "It was a distraction." And animals are far less confusing, far less a threat. Safer to care about or spend time with.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"It's no trouble. I adore my felines," she says, with a soft smile. "But, tell me about yourself. What is Zevran like?"

[Zevran]

There's a beat of silence, then, "well, I do not distrust cats."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Do you like cats? I particularly adore them. Dogs are so much louder and messier. Cats are more... elegant."

[Zevran]

"I am fond of both, though I have... It has been some time since I spent much time around dogs," he says carefully. "Each have their own virtues and flaws. Dogs are often loud and messy, true, but they are also much more honest about their desires and affections. They are loyal and hardworking, presuming one has treated them well and shown them a task in need of doing. Cats are a delightful mixture of elegance, as you say, but also silliness." He smiles faintly, inclining his head. "For instance, this one in particular has both a perplexing fascination with the purple... viney... plants in the hallway near the slave quarter and a truly appalling lack of judgement in regards to jumping distances. Some cleverness however, as she's also taken to dragging unattended articles of clothing to serve as a cushion for when she misses the leap from urn to bookshelf... for the tenth time."