Belle — Roleplayer Guild

D. Ark's irritation left him at the sound of the adorable little voice. "Ah Chitter, my lovely little bird," he said, taking the papers from her and giving them a look. "Very well done little bird."He accepted her unspoken request and picked her up to ride on his shoulder. "I know you are bored my dear, but I'm afraid I still cannot trust you to control yourself amongst the walking meat bags. You need supervision for a little longer. Keep being a good little bird and Daddy will give you back your priviledges."

Hearing screams coming from a performance area D. Ark's face contorted into a scowl before breathing a long suffering sigh.
"Come little bird. I believe that some members of the family are forgetting themselves."

It didn't take long to find the cause of the commotion. Desdemona and Johnny, of course. And little Blink on the ground in obvious pain. D. Ark allowed his dark aura to envelop the area. The meat bags felt it and moved away, subconciously getting away from what they perceived would be a berating of the workers.
Putting Chitter down, he narrowed his eyes at all three of the performers. "Enough. All of you. Blink, go to the medic tent. Now."

He waited for the boy to leave before turning his attention back to Johnny and Desdemona. "Both of you know better than to test me in this manner. Control yourselves or I will do it for you," he said, his tone a foreboding warning that would chill the blood of anyone receiving it. "Johnny, stop pestering Desdemona. Desdemona, control your temper."
He looked down at Chitter, his features softening. "Little bird, keep an eye on these two. If they continue scrapping in front of our guests, be sure to punish them accordingly. But remember to be discreet or they will not be the only ones punished."

D. Ark tugged on one of his gloves a bit. "Now I shall go and do damage control. If you want to feed this evening, or any other in the future, behave yourselves. I will not tell you again."

Turning, he left them without a backwards glance. Families didn't get along at times, but they were still important to have around.
The beast was rumbling. His irritation was feeding it, making it grow into anger which would spawn into rage if not properly handled. He had not given in to the rage for many years, because the last time had been catastrophic for both the meat bags and his performers. None had likely forgotten or wanted a repeat of it.
His hands quivered, wanting to be stained with blood. He hated the feeling. It was messy and undignified. Consuming souls was more elegant than ripping bodies to shreds.
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