<span style="font-family:Philosopher">Even as blood and tears marred her face, there was no fear in her gaze, only hatred. The look he gave her mirrored her own and he felt a snarl crawl across his face as she began to speak.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">"Now what would be the fun in letting them have victory with your prize. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of having me thrown in here?"</span> He let go of her hair and stepped back as she rose unsteadily to her feet. He crossed his arms over his chest, content to let her continue as he listened with cold fury, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">"Didn't you know what you wanted before you asked to have me brought here? You couldn't possibly have thought I'd be easy?"</span> She spit on his shirt and he cocked an eyebrow. His gaze fell to the bloody spittle gracing his shirt. <br/>
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He smirked. She would have to try better than that to get him to retaliate, especially when he was not yet done with humiliating her. He felt a chuckle rise unbidden from his core as he thought of how easy he had taken her, when he had thought his ship would have at least been punished severely in the attempt. Part of that wasn't her fault, that laid at the feet of the dead captain, but she had chosen the man. Part of the blame rested at her feet squarely. Perhaps that explained some of the rage she was showing, although no doubt that could be attributed to having been caught by one of those she had sworn to bring in. <br/>
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<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#8000ff">"So Longknife, where does this leave me, your prisoner. Do you feel accomplished?"</span> The bitterness in her tone was like nectar to him and he felt a smile break his cold visage. He didn't answer immediately. He stared at the wreckage of the chair before turning his eyes to the cracked glass of the window. At his belt he removed his eating knife and calmly cut a furrow across his palm. The blood welled up, sharp and familiar after all these years of doing this. He placed bloody palm on to the glass and whispered words of Power while he ran his hand down the length of the glass. Where his hand went, the glass seemed to repair itself until it was once more pristine. He turned to face the broken chair and the chair seemed to rise up and reassemble itself under Daemon's intense guidance.<br/>
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When the chair was once more whole, his hand fell to his side, the wound healing itself once the invocation was over. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead and he felt suddenly weak at calling on the Power. He stumbled and caught himself on the glass window, shooting her a look as if daring her to try something. Instead, with a massive force of will, he rose to his full height once more and crossed his arms over his chest.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"To answer your first query, no it doesn't. They shared in the victory. I gave the orders. They made it possible. If I so choose, they will share in <i>all</i> of the spoils."</span> No doubt he considered her a spoil of war.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"I didn't know what I wanted from you, nor did I consider you to be <i>easy</i>."</span> He smirked,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"Although, destroying the ship beneath you had been..pathetically easy..as well as your capture. So forgive me for thinking if you yourself would follow the trend." </span>He uncrossed his arms and broke eye contact with her to walk over to his desk. There, he pulled out a crystal decanter and poured himself a healthy measure of whisky in a tumblr.<br/>
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He turned around quickly to face her. He had learned it wasn't particularly safe to keep his eyes off of her.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"As I stated earlier, before you rudely interrupted me, I am undecided as to your fate."</span> He took a sip of the whisky and savored the taste before continuing, a small smile curling his features,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"But a solution comes to mind."</span> He took a deeper drink from the whisky before he set the glass down back on the desk and walked calmly towards her. As he came closer, he began to unbutton his shirt.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">"Want to know why they call me Longknife?"</span> He growled as his chest came in to view, muscular and scarred. When he lashed out it was lightning fast. One moment he was walking towards her, the next the back of his hand was lashing out to come crashing against the side of her face in a blow that was all knuckles and calloused skin.</span>