Salvatrix drained her tea-cup, then set it down in thin air, ignoring the slow descent it made to the floor. It even tucked itself neatly out of the way, at the edge of the corridor -- or conversely, on the outer skirts where one would least expect to step on the good china. “No, I’ll not,” she said flatly, her eyes momentarily flashing electric. “Forgiveness is a virtue, sweetling, and you’ll find I’m quite in the wrong trade.” Whether he believed she was talking about Ad Gustum or advocacy was neither here nor there, for she didn’t care. But the vampire was a twisted creature, for a mortal -- and yes, vampires were indeed counted among those -- and he amused her. Vaguely. He had, in the very least, made Tanith scream. The Advocate had meant it when she called the scene a ‘pretty mess’.
“And you forget yourself, vampire.” That much was made obvious -- beyond obvious -- by the current state of his cell floor, but also beside the point she was making. “Everything on this floor might as well be mine,” she remarked lightly, smiling at the reminder. With her as a slave manager, there wasn’t really such a thing as exclusive ownership. “I’ll dangle whatever I like in front of you and, come heaven or high water, you’ll thank me that the dead weight you call a heart remains in your chest. Because no matter what happens, you’ll be blamed for whatever I see fit.” The smile that had become almost sweet slid from her face in a heartbeat as she turned away, half intending to poke at Tanith. “Lucifer’s teeth, you need a healer, girl.” Salvatrix could not have sounded more inconvenienced if she tried. “You could have made this far easier for the both of us had you been demonic-blooded.” Stepping around the blonde, her tail snaked out to poke her in the leg. “Can you walk? … Can you talk?” Perhaps she was willing to sell her soul…