[ nnn crappy post is crappy ]

Needless to say, the escalating intimacy of the situation did not escape Arioche's notice. She was still perched over the edge of the booth seat watching the events before her unfold with little more than a blatant disapproval etched all across her features. The expression on her back seemed to have fixed into a permanent frown of distaste that matched her beady black eyes, but she made no move towards her master to pull him out of his lust-induced state of mind and merely sat there watching him make a fool out of himself.

"Hnngh," came his grunt of protest when that warmth beneath him slipped out and he was left wanting. Out of reflex he had reached to grasp some part of her, any part, but she eluded his clutches easily enough [ a fact he would later come to blame on the rush of endorphins that she had set loose through his system ] and he found himself suddenly with his temple against the ground and a very unfamiliar, torturous sensation in places he'd just as much not think about. From her spot in the booth Arioche let out a condescending click of sorts and retreated back into the cushiony seat before her master could inflict punishment upon her; not a very likely thing, but it was never bad to take precautions.

His rusty brown eyes seemed to swivel, dazed, around the room a moment before he fell upon her scantily clad form only a few feet away from her. He caught the faint gist of what she was saying but his mind wasn't really receptive at the moment, and so the meaning behind her words was lost to him. Were he in his right mind he would have surely protested the situation and gone back to beating her ass like he'd been so intent on doing before, but the feelings she'd stirred to life within him were not something that could just as easily be ignored.

Not that he really wanted to, now that she'd set him loose.

The way Mickey looked at him put him in mind of a puppy checking to make sure she was being followed. If that was the case.. maybe she wasn't quite ready to end their little game just yet. Maybe-- maybe there was more to it then that.

Maybe he was still in control.

The alcohol slightly dampening his clothes didn't get a response from Faolan as he shifted to push himself onto his knees, nor did the slight bruising sensations up and down his torso and his legs from where she'd jostled and hit him during their scuffle. He was starting to feel a bit of an ache near his jaw, though, from the earlier punch, but everything was shoved to the back of his mind as he sat up and gazed primly at the girl before him. This was her fault.

She'd have to take care of it.

It was only right that she would.

Eventually that look faded and was replaced with the usual glittering malice that occupied his gaze along with the Cheshire-like grin that spread across his face. A few of the waitresses and the patrons had cleared out, but there was one that was eyeballing the pair of them from the bar. Not that Faolan could blame him, considering Mickey's state of undress and the mess they had made during their fight.

The words that she'd spoken prior came back to him in a sudden rush -- they usually tended to, he found over the years -- and peered haughtily down at his own stained clothes before looking back to her.

"Need a second opinion?"

If his voice was still deeper and as husky as it had been before, he didn't say anything for it. That churning, electric sensation that had been running through his body at her touch had lessened, but still lingered here and there when he let his thoughts still. And his eyes... they were not gentle, or cunning, or anything of that sort. If there was one word to describe his expression, it would be hungry-- hungry for Mickey to finish up what she had started and for her to put an end to the problem she'd seemingly created all on her own accord.

Because it was her fault.

"Arioche." The spider was at his side in an instant and crawling up his back to perch in her usual spot on his shoulders. She gave Mickey one of the dirtiest looks she could muster, seemed to 'humph' a little and turned away from her altogether. Faolan, meanwhile, had draped an arm over Mickey's shoulders and tugged her over in a gesture that was more possessive than anything else; the look he seemed to give the other men of the bar only echoed this sentiment. He then snatched up the bottle that had been the cause of their 'mess' and started steering the Pravus grunt towards the exit, and, inevitably, Headquarters.