<br/>Seeing the flare of exotic colour, the glitter of gold, the flash of skin made his blood run hot. How would she look to writhe beneath him, all brightness and joy, burning and eager. Her skin so fine and fair would bruise as easily as those over complicated words twisted over her tongue. They would bloom in violet and soft browns. Would she whimper or moan if he kissed them to make them ache...<br/><br/>He blinked and refused to let his breathing stop or shake or come to shallow. He had no right to those thoughts. Even worse to wonder at damaging her. It would hurt her image as a princess in her bower - and if would hurt her, literally. He knew he was infected by the sickness of his patrons, longing both for pain and to give pain, but he knew there was a third way that was without causing any hurt at all. He had even experienced it, before the Briars. Even if he could do it, he had no place to be thinking like that. He was staff. He couldn't touch her.<br/><br/><em>"A vile beast then? Are there not too many of those already? Would you truly protest if I stole you away? Though I fear I am no mastermind as such fiends usually are, I'd only have endless poetry and clothing fittings to torture you with."</em><br/><br/>His smile twitched back up, desperately masking his desire. His mind tracked back to what he had said in the first place and he wondered at her lack of venom. If he had been given such an opening a year ago by someone so damaged and below him, he would not have hesitated in pointing out that he was already a vile beast. Would hearing her say such a thing have hurt him? He didn't know. "Only if you read the tripe of the Jerric brothers. I'd suffer a corset just to avoid<em>that</em>fate."<br/><br/><em>"You owe me nothing Atticus, I simply enjoy your company and books are ever my delight. I never said you were my hero though, that would presume far too much, and after all whoever heard of a whore having a dashing hero."</em><br/><br/>His smile faded the instant she said it. "Forgive me, I was..." He didn't know what to say. It had been presumptuous of him. And he found out that she could hurt him with words, and it was a slow, nauseating pain like having skin rubbed raw on rough wood. Just because she had invited him to playful banter didn't mean he could forget himself. His voice was softer, more demure. "I was overeager, I did not intend to make you feel discomfort."<br/><br/>He should bow, and leave. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be talking to her. Shouldn't be thinking about her hair or skin or the sound of her voice as she lost her reason in an oblivion of pleasure and pain. But he couldn't withdraw. Not yet.<br/><br/>"But... forgive me again, but I know of one such whore." He wanted to laugh at the thought of Master Ryan dressed in the theatrical garb of a hero, stained leather breastplate and sandals. But he didn't, and held his tongue against his truth that Fiona knew some of, at least. He didn't know how much she had been told or had found out, but he would not bear it to her.<br/><br/><em>. "What more could I want then what is here? A whore needs no more then clients desires no? To desire more is foolish, so...so very foolish." </em><br/><br/>He heard her tone and looked at her, not quite sure how to unravel her. She might not have meant to hurt  him, and now it was her that was in pain. A weary soulache. He had a very strong desire to slap her or shake her. Lamenting about a lack of direction in life while sitting in the lap of luxury was utterly disgusting to him. He couldn't say anything for fear of letting his anger at her be heard, nor offer any compassion without sounding mocking. Had she no desire, no point on the far horizon to fight towards? If not, why did she let people defile her day after day?<br/><br/>He didn't see bruises anymore, but blood. He was glad she was not looking at him. His face was stiff with the effort to keep it emotionless.<br/><br/>When he felt like he might be able to control his tone, he said, "No, no more words." Maybe he was thinking too big - he had offered her something from himself. Maybe it wasn't life she was directionless in, but maybe it was him that she was shunning. Overthinking and doubleguessing were two nasty habits. He shouldn't encourage them. He clenched his teeth - the worst she could do was speak to Master Ryan, wasn't it? - and said rather tightly, "Desire is powerful. Important. It is the blinkers of a carriage horse, letting us see nothing but our goal. It is a tool that should not be over used. I<em>am</em>sorry if I offended you."