[It seems, after a moment, that the mood has shifted in Tyki—and he smiles as the dice roll across the velvet table-mat, flashing their words upright in a chosen pair. Once he reads the act displayed upon them, that smile turns to one of teeth, a white strip that turns his expression wolfish.]
"Bite knee." Oh, lucky.
[He lifts a hand, passing gloved fingertips across the bruises he is certain are beginning to flower on his dark skin from her strangling clutch. The gesture turns into an excuse to tug the cravat lower on his throat, fixing its knot. Pointedly, his eyes lower to the edge of the table, where beneath it her legs are hiding somewhere under that red dress.]
You aren't going to take my turn away from me again, are you?
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"Bite knee." Oh, lucky.
[He lifts a hand, passing gloved fingertips across the bruises he is certain are beginning to flower on his dark skin from her strangling clutch. The gesture turns into an excuse to tug the cravat lower on his throat, fixing its knot. Pointedly, his eyes lower to the edge of the table, where beneath it her legs are hiding somewhere under that red dress.]
You aren't going to take my turn away from me again, are you?