Long dark shadows

And then, Destrey snapped. Why did they always have to go and ruin it just when things were getting to the fun part?

"Oh my god just shut up will you?" she shouted at him as her head bounced off the brickwork. "Being called names is so not one of my turn ons."

She lifted his hand away from her stomach and entangled it in her curls.

"Now be a good boy and pull. Hard."

F-ck the suit. I will buy myself a new one, was the internal, snapping sound of Vito's resolve.

Within her long, dark locks Vito did coil his serpent fingers. "Respect, Dollface," he insisted through gnashing teeth, and gave a fierce wrench of his crumbled fist against her hair, pulling from her skull a patch of flesh several inches in diameter. "How is that?" Vito whispered callously, and dropped the clod of hair to the street.

He paid his hand a brief glance, fixated by the small beads of blood that painted his palm.

There isn't enough there to ruin this suit. Perhaps you should have pulled harder.

OOC: Second verse, same as the first.

No, it was definitely doing nothing for her. Sure, dollface was a better name than b!tch, but his pull had been a harsh wrench and then... nothing. Well, pain, but that was expected. He hadn't even tried to make her cry.

Even Shylock could have done better, Destrey was sure, though she would never find out because even she wasn't that perverted.

"I think you need lessons," she said. "Here, let me show you."

And with that, she lit his cigarette using a flagrante curse.

"The perfect predicament. You want the cigarette and it's up to you whether you smoke it or not, but if you do, you burn."

This time, when she locked eyes with his, she smiled.

"I do hope you can see the moral of the story."

Insult upon insult was the name of the game - a game with which Vito had long since lost his patience.

"Dull," He groaned halfheartedly, despite the agonizing heat which bit through his tongue under the cursed cigarette's weight, and he withdrew it from his lips. He took firmly in the hold of his spare hand the female's jaw before her sentence's end, having spied an opportunity as she spoke.

"Eat up," Vito chimed, and nestled the amber-red cancer stick between her lips, savoring the slide of his fingertips along the corners of her mouth.

And with a fluent roll of his wrist, Vito produced a second cigarette from his jacket.

The cigarette balanced painfully for just a moment on the edge of Destrey's lower lip before falling to the ground.

"Obviously not," she said, before pushing past him and walking away up the street.

The apothecary could wait. She had wasted too much time here as it was and Shylock would be wondering what had happened to her.