Béatrix watched the petty drama ensue with little interest. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the leather feeling surprisingly warm against her cold skin. The female Kingston was relentless in her goal to prove she wasn’t a child, and the petulant whining started to great on Trixy’s last nerve. The longer they sat there, the thirstier she got… her bloodlust taking over, especially with the heightened emotions of the night.

Trixy noticed Alistair reflecting similar feelings towards violence and bloodshed. She placed her hand softly on his right arm in a motion of comfort. Her touch brought his eyes to hers, “Later…” she said in a whisper, if it was vampire blood he sought, she’d be glad to oblige… but now was neither the time nor place to start a war. It was then that she brought her attention to the wordy girl.

“Darling girl, you should leave. We came here to this bar, in [i]our[/i] part of the city to pick up [/i]our[i] family member. It wasn’t us who drew the Kingstons here, your family. And it wasn’t us who tried to attack first, not even verbally. You’ll have to excuse Alistair’s ire, one – because he’s your elder, and two – because he is a family head, and three – because your little bat sister attempted to tear his throat out not 5 minutes ago. We have seen just about enough of the Kingstons in one night to make up for a whole month. Leave us now, or things will get ugly.”