Manners are a foreign concept

Tarquin nods in some sort of an understanding. Whatever those 'ideas' may be, he seems to have a distinct understanding of what they entail, and seems remarkably pleased with the outcome too.

Coming from a demon, I can only take that to be a bad thing.

"Good, good. Well, I am glad you are back, both of you," Tarquin announces, giving us both an appreciative nod, his eyes lingering a fraction of a second too long over me, as if something about my appearance particularly strikes him as odd. Being an albino, this of course is not the first time I have had people staring at my rather outlandish appearance. The Queen always told me I got it from my father, that I was an angel, and should pride myself in my... unusual appearance, but to everyone else, I was merely a freak of nature, a sight to be admired at from a distance, like a treasure trapped behind a glass at the museum. It made making friends particularly difficult of course, rendering me a rather solitary child, deprived of most of the usual joys that came with childhood- fun, friends. Except for Alastor. There was always Alastor.

Opposite, Tarquin brings up his seat at the other end of the table, pushing aside the scattered array of cards dismissively, disregarding the long forgotten game. The other demon, a broad, tall, dark skinned man with black, membranous wings and a stark array of tattoos under his right eye, merely grunts, clacking his nails on the table, as though irritated that the game of cards had to come to such an abrupt halt. He does particularly look too happy to see me, but not displeased either. This demon- Dreyfus, seems to have a particular stoic expression that portrays both boredom and a casual disinterest at the same time, yet revealing nothing about what he actually feels, his face a blank slate, an enigma. He is dressed in a similar attire to the demon opposite him, only instead of a sword, he carries an array of knives on a leather belt, bearing more leathers than shining steel, an attire that perfectly matches his brooding appearance.

He looks like he wants nothing better than to fade back into the shadows and have nothing to do with anything- a feeling I can frequently relate to- the feeling of wanting to escape. Glancing between the two demons, I wonder faintly if they are friends. The two seem so different, yet their relationship seems oddly amicable.

That said, I don't know much about demon etiquette, so who am I to say?

"We waited for three hours for you two, you know," grunts Dreyfus irritably, folding his arms over himself, the muscles on his biceps rippling with each movement. Obviously, the offhand comment is aimed at me.

"Yes, three splendid hours, worth the wait, of course," Tarquin pipes up, shooting daggers at his companion on the opposite side of the table. At this, Valerian only looks faintly amused, his legs crossed, hands splayed behind his head, eyes darting between the two figures, waiting in anticipation at what they might do next. His wings drape out behind his chair, tickling me slightly due to the sheer span of them, his lions tail curled around thin air, the picture of relaxation.

Realising I have been staring at Valerian a little too long- something he has very obviously picked up on from the sly grin that slinks across his lips, I say:

"Well, er, I am honoured that you have waited such a long time, but, um, who exactly are you two?"

Before they can even think about the answer, Valerian speaks for them, indicating to each one respectively with a dip of his black nailed hand.

"This is Tarquin, demon lord of the Northern Desserts," he voices lowly, pointing a finger loosely at the red skinned demon, who smiles broadly at me. "-and this is Dreyfus, demon lord of the southern woods. They are two of the four demon lords that help me control this kingdom, and their powers have helped shape my lands. Ironically, they were all supposed to be here for your arrival, but it appears two did not turn up," he growls, a tone of irritation lacing his voice. The two demon lords share a look between them, an unreadable expression passing on their faces. Tarquin grabs a chalice from the table, swirling it nervously, staring down into the liquid with an intense ferocity. Clearly, it is a subject he does not like to dote on.

"They couldn't make it," he mutters, continuing to swirl the liquid, mostly out of utter nervousness. I raise my brow.

"Couldn't make it?" I ask, almost voicing a sneer, leaning my hands against the table to steady myself. Running my hands through my air, I readjust my position on my seat. "Wonderful planning you lot have. Even our shitty nobility in the Upper Realm wouldn't risk a meeting if the Queen commanded it, I suggest you are more assertive with them, Valerian," I laugh, leaning back against my seat as casually as I dare. Perhaps I was asking for death being so blazon with the Devil and his men, but I never was really one to hold back what was on my mind. Figuratively speaking, I am an open book, what you see is what you get- even if what you get is a foul mouthed girl who doesn't know the meaning of 'manners'.

Valerian laughs under his breath, giving me a sideways look that is filled with amusement. But clearly, the others aren't so impressed. At my words, Dreyfus growls lowly, rising slightly from his seat, fist clenched so hard against the table that his knuckles turn white with rage. Spit flies from his mouth.

"Don't you dare insult our highness'-"

Valerian raises a hand to the demon lord, and he sinks reluctantly back into his seat.

"Enough, Dreyfus. Elowyn is part of my court now, I suggest you respect her. Besides, she makes a valid point, I have let the other two get away with slighting my rules for long enough, they ordinarily would be punished, and that they shall be."