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“I suppose, darling, that you are absolutely and inextricably determined and decided upon this course?” he broke in, gaze fixed somewhere above her head. “No substitutions accepted under any circumstances? No chance of a thunderbolt realization that you’d genuinely prefer to skin me alive instead, and convert my hide into an attractive wall hanging?”
Here we go. “Al—“
“Or might my kidneys be of interest? I have quite the fine matched set, which would be excellent broiled with some sherry and cream. And of course there’s always my liver—”
Charlie cupped his chin, digging her claws in ever so slightly; forced his eyes skyward to meet hers. “No skinning, no kidneys, and no liver! Besides, you know that I know that you only have half a liver anyway! Trying to pass off damaged goods as equivalent to your gorgeous ears in an effort to wriggle out of an already agreed-upon forfeit; that’s low, Alastor. Real low.”
_____
Sequel to drink the flower away. Alastor may have had a blissful week of delight at Charlie’s expense, but such pleasures always carry a price, and now it’s his turn to suffer in a manner of her choosing.
After all, those that dance must pay the piper.