Arden's responce is nothing so coherent as words. A low hiss is his only responce, exhaled through gritted teeth. His wings scrape against the floor, silver feathers rustling as he wraps them about himself like a cloak. The motion covers him from neck to ankles in silver and white - about as clear a refusal as you could want.<br/><br/>Under the wings, Arden is forcing his breathing even, keeping the scorn and disgust in his eyes and banishing the fading remnants of the intrigueing tingle roused by Eris' fingers and mouth from his mind. That is easier accomplished than keeping his eyes from wandering, though ...