forum people want my power, and they want my station (OxO) (mlm romance)

Started Feb 16 by @NikolaNiks

tune

storm my winter palace, but they couldn’t take it~

Vaguely based off of some books I’ve read about fae, with heavy inspiration taken from the Chronicles of Narnia, LOTR, and Discworld wrt fae lore and with mild inspiration taken from basically every Tumblr.com post ever made about interactions between vampires and fae. This is a whole genre of post and I swear, it messes me up every time. Also very much inspired by Beauty and the Beast, I just love evil kings getting their hearts broken and then mended and becoming actually nice people.

Eternally snowing, the Fae Kingdom of the Farlands is a cruel place. The Spring Fae Lord has been encased in ice, and thus, the world is cursed to snow until the fateful day that a true love between the hideously vile Fae King of the Winter and some miscellaneous lower creature melts the icy king’s frozen heart. In the meantime, the Winter Fae King is ruling with an iron fist, and anyone who crosses into his lands will not survive through the night without some serious magical protection. The Winter Fae King is your character.

My character, however, is someone who can always survive the cold. This is due to the fact that he is a Vampire, his skin cold as the icy winds of the Farlands themselves on a good day. He is traveling through the Farlands to get back to his sister. She has sent word that humans have stormed her palace of blood and take captive his sister’s son, the sole heir to the High Vampiric throne and a very important figure for the future of the six lesser vampire kingdoms. But of course, the fastest way is straight through the Farlands. Thus, my character inevitably gets captured by soldiers and brought to your character’s palace in the heart of the chilly mountains. And they end up having more in common than they think, cue ~romance~ and ~shenanigans~.

This will have an eventual happy ending, but I don’t really want this to be quite dark romance either as I kinda detest the genre, I find it often romanticizes abuse.

Rules are basically just play nice, don’t be a bigot or a jerk, have fun, and in the case of this particular RP, ask before we start any smut scenes, I might want to just fade to black or avoid such implications entirely. Idk I’m feeling very grey ace today, not averse ace as is my traditional ‘usual’.

(sorry this took so long! but here's my boy!)
Name - Killian Grislain
Nickname - Lian
Age - unknown but looks around 32
Sexuality - pan
Race - Fae
Appearance - Killian stands around 6'0 ish. Slightly muscular. His straight white hair frames an angular face. His eyes are a deep green with flecks of blue and gold interspersed. Pale, near translucent skin. He has even fainter white markings along his back and arms that usually get mistaken for scars but are completely normal. Typically wears tighter fitting clothes for warmth but not so restricting.
Personality - Killian is a fiercely loving and loyal male. He was very protective of his kingdom, especially now knowing what had happened to the Spring Fae Lord. His kingdom will always be put first before himself. He can be a bit overprotective, but he means well. Having been involved in a war before, he's very tactical and strategic, even when it comes to the simpler things. He doesn't like leaving things to chance. This overprotective nature can extend to loved ones but there's not many he's willing to let get that close.
Backstory - Killian grew up near the tail end of the war, joining his kingdom's army along with his father at 18. Unfortunately, the young prince lost his father in a battle, making him both king and general in one quick day. Ever since then, he has fought for his kingdom, promising they'd some semblance of peace soon. He's seen and been through a lot and is unwilling to be swayed by flimsy promises, not if it puts those under his rule in danger. This can be seen as harsh but KIllian has learned throughout his years that mercy is weakness.
likes - His kingdom above all else, despite being practically born in it, he still finds beauty in snow and ice, being warm.
Dilikes- war since most of his bad memories were from that time, being alone, seeing people he loves getting hurt in any way, surprises good or bad, he doesn't like being caught off guard.

Name: Nextor Vanishing-Mirror
Age: 103, presents as around 35 but age can range depending on how recently he's fed on fresh blood.
Species: Vampire
Gender: Trans man, he/him
Sexuality: Gay as all get-out. Literally just so gay. Gay panicking all around for this guy.
Appearance: Thin and fragile twinkazoid. Desaturated honey-brown skin, like the life was sucked out of him (it was). He has his ink-dark hair styled back in very elegant dreads, with jewelry and beads hanging from them delicately like stars. Faint freckles, used to be much more vibrant but have faded with time and little exposure to the sun. Shorter, around 5'6". Don't let appearances fool you though, ya boi is feisty as hell and a good fighter. His hands are permanently scarred with burns from some tragic event, so he usually uses his claws sparingly in a fight and goes straight to biting.
Wardrobe style: Very practical commoner clothes, like that of the scholar he is.
Character playlist: Very Good Bad Thing by Mother Mother, I Go Hungry by Mother Mother, and No One To Nothing by… yet again, Mother Mother. Three songs from the same album, how despicable of me tee-hee!
Family? Friends? Toxic stalker ex? What relationships do they have with others? How do those relationships go? How do they end?: He does have a toxic ex, more on that later. His sister and nephew are his only undead living relatives.
Other notes/misc. section for just random trivia and facts: I haven't fleshed this guy out fully. Expect inconsistent backstory and motivations until I can reconcile all my ideas.

(I love him! Can't wait to see him with Lian. Also love mother mother
I think bit by bit fits lian fairly well :3)

(Absolutely no worries at all!)
"…good health, and may you return to us soon, brother." Killian cradled the crystal-like ice flower at the Spring Fae Lord's altar, though, after countless years of praying his younger brother would melt and return to his family's safety, Killian had started to think of the chamber as a tomb. The moment he put the flower down onto the stone base, it began to melt. The warmth that radiated from the Spring Lord's glass casket made the chamber he was kept in its own little slice of spring warmed enough that Killian had shed his fur-lined cloak.
"He appreciates it." A soft voice came from the corner of the chamber from a half goat half girl creature, her wide eyes black but not emotionless. Delicate horns spirals up from her curls. She had silently taken Killian's cloak, wrapping her slim body in its warmth while she silently waited for Killian to make his visit.
The Winter Lord raised an eyebrow and offered his arm to the satyr girl. "Has he spoken to you, Sybil?" The girl shrugged, sharp teeth showing through a grin. "He doesn't talk nor do I speak for him but I have a feeling Uncle would like your gift. And your wish for his return. No matter how opposite you two are, you both had a great appreciation for each other's season. The world is not the same with you two out of balance. You are not the same without your brother." She turned her gaze to Killian as they entered the throne room. "Have you gotten any closer to breaking this curse of his?" She asked, brows turning up in concern. Killian reluctantly shook his head. "I haven't been able to focus on finding my 'true love.' Not when the kingdom is struggling through the wars on either side of the borders. Not when I have to care for my people first. My happiness is the least of my priorities. If this curse can't recognize my love for my brother as true, then I doubt this curse wants to be broken." Killian nodded and bowed as he passed by civilians eating by a fire pit, directing guards to grab more blankets for them with a wave of his hand.
Killian had dedicated the past few years to his people and to finding a cure for his brother that didn't involve him developing feelings for any random stranger.
"I have a feeling that will change." Sybil gave a small shrug, joining her fellow Sayters by another fire bit as another group of guards came up to Killian.
"Sir, forgive the haste, but there's a problem. A captive near the border. He's….proved to be a challenge, take two of our soldiers out, but we've managed to bring him in." Killian's gaze grew cold. He couldn't afford an infiltration now, not with civilians in his care. He thought he had been fine laying low while the bordering territories fought it out. "Keep him in the study. If he's conscious, feed him and give him water. I need him to be able to talk" Killian ordered, turning without another word to his guards as he addressed his guests.

Nextor had been traveling through the Farlands, known to the ancients as the Faewilds, for a good reason. He knew the Fair Folk were dangerous, more monsters than even the Death Goddex Ai-ei, more sinister than a left-handed witch casting spells at midnight. At least, that's what the rumors had always told him. They were cunning, and rumored to be true immortals, not like the leeches or parasitic biters that Vampires were. Not that Nextor was at all ashamed of who he was. He served a function in nature, and that function was to cull. But he recognized what the danger was of dealing with a creature very much like a deity. So he traveled quickly and quietly, never letting himself get too close to any one small village, never letting himself be seen too closely to be mistaken for anything but an ordinary animal (that is, Nextor could shift into a variety of creatures, but the closer you got the more the illusion failed and the more vampiric qualities there were to be seen). But when he neared the halfway point of his journey, he slipped up.

Most of his targets to feed on were wild animals. Squirrels, deer, maybe even a wolf or bison if he could manage to gut it enough to get it to stop kicking him as he fed. But not a sentient creature, at least, not until now. He'd overestimated how long he could go without food. Nextor was close enough to a village, and he'd come across an Bumble. They were close enough to sentient to make good guardians, like a dog or even a very stupid human. But they weren't quite capable of thinking. A hive-minded creature by nature, Bumbles were basically like very large bees, they served as transport to those they trusted and a guardian of property to those who they were subservient to.

And Nextor had tried to eat it. Succeeded, actually, insect blood was never that filling but it kept him going for a few days. But Bumbles had a poison running through their blood that, when drank by any normal human, would liquify their insides. It affects Vampires much differently however, and thus it came about that the poison made Nextor ridiculously high.

Nextor had always been a nasty drunk. He was nearly exiled from his kingdom for it, and he voluntarily left after he'd killed a human child in a surrounding village that had wandered too far out from home and into the woods after dark. Any form of illicit substance made Nextor incredibly violent, bloodthirsty and stupid. He couldn't control his actions under the influence, and when he realized he'd end up killing someone important if he kept on, he left his kingdom to study under a convent of sorceresses who essentially helped him detox. He ended up taking a liking to their practices, and stayed with them for fifty years.

And now he was coming to in a study, chained to a metal chair (not iron, interesting) and barely remembering anything that had happened. He vaguely processed Satyr blood in his mouth, and…

Shit. He'd killed someone, he must have. Vague and jumbled memories of terrorizing a small village and fighting off Fae soldiers over the course of six days (give or take-time was hard to track in this state) made him realize he'd made a grave mistake. How had he forgotten how Bumble's blood could affect a vampire, especially him? Dammit, he was a doctor. A studious one at that, how had hunger caused him to forget that one simple fact?

The door behind him let out a soft click, and creaked as it opened. Nextor's disfigured hands tensed, his claws unsheathing despite the fact he could barely use them to escape let alone fight. He closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever deity was out there that he'd survive this.

After taking a few moments to reach each huddled group of civilians, ensuring they had enough food, water, and bedding and reassuring them all would be well soon, he left most of his guards to keep them safe. Killian wanted to give his people the best chance at surviving if this intruder was a true threat.

Throughout his seemingly eternal life, Killian had seen death time and time again. At this point, he considered them good friends if death had the capacity for one. War and the cruel nature of the Fae ran in tandem with one another, one feeding the other like a river to an ocean, sometimes peaceful, never-ending, impending, and never ever predictable. Killian and his younger brother, The Fae Lord of Sping Adriel had grown up in war. From a very young age, their parents had instilled a broad knowledge of the surrounding kingdoms and their extensive history, making sure the two flying boys knew their enemy and knew exactly what to expect from them at any given moment. Unfortunately, knowing and preventing war were very different, and very hard to do. Not that that was much of a problem for the pair. Killian and Adiel had been monsters on the battlefield, a little too eager to prove their worth as crown princes to fae thrones. It was the way of the fae, to be wild and ruthless, to tap into their ancestral instincts to lure, trick, and deceive. Killian had been more strategic out of the two, sapping every bit of information, using whatever means at his disposal from his enemies before making sure even their names were erased from history. Adriel was the trickster of the family, equally as beautiful, equally as deadly, but where Killian was willing to play a very long game of cat and mouse, Adiel had no patience when it came to bloodshed and was killed immediately. Never once had they apologized for the lives they took. If their opponents were unfortunate to come up against the two then they had messed up somewhere long, long ago. That was until they slipped up. It had seemingly been a minor detail. The odd jilt of a fellow soldier, the way he had stubbled before settling at the fire circle. They had thought him drunk on the spoils of their latest conquest. Killian should have known better, should have sensed a glamour or the off tinge of soured fruit in the air. As the eldest brother, he should have been ready. But the curse came softly, carried by the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new morning for their people. Not that it was at all deserved but they couldn't have cared less. They should have though, as the soldier muttered the last part of the curse and smoke curled into the sky, Killian should have known better when his brother slumped against him that mornings were a fleeting thing. He would soon understand when by the next, Adriel had seen his last in a very long time.

Those exact final moments of bitterness were what seeped into Killian's soul now as he wove past servants and soldiers, but he kept his composure steeled, at least for now. He spared a glance as another fae matched his stride. "Captain." Killian greeted. The male nodded, the best greeting anyone would get. "The condition of my men?" Killian continued, slowing his pace as they neared the private quarters of the palace.

"Critical but they'll survive. The satyr will not." The captain replied, lowering his gaze in silent respect. Killian did the same though the familiar thrum of revenge hummed in his blood. "Sybil will know a more appropriate vigil for them than I do." Killian was blunt, almost painfully so. He didn't believe in sparing feelings though he had no doubt the Saytre that was killed would impact Sybil and he did sympathize with the loss, despite not knowing the individual.

The Captain stopped a few paces from the door, silently passing Killian his sword though he did not need it. "They were delirious when we finally were able to bring them in. Covered in blood though not animal or Fae. It smelled off…but they seemed to tolerate it, or at least not die immediately from it." Killian nodded again as he accepted the blade.
"It's been a while since we've had a baobhan sith amongst our kind." He noted, keeping the sword beside him as he entered the dark study alone.

"If the rumors are true, then I apologize for the inadequate food, hreremus." Killian chuckled softly at seeing the vampire's stance and set the sword against the wall near the door. "you can put those away, I am not here to fight you. I have enough to worry about without a lost baobhan sith. Assuming you are lost…" Killian grabbed a chair and settled in comfortably as he took his time taking in every detail of his prisoner.

(according to quick Google searches:
Baobhan Sith -> vampire fae
Hreremus - old English for bat that also translates to rattle or flitter mouse)

When the strange Fae entered the study, Nextor froze. Language escaped him currently, only thoughts of regret and fear went through his mind and he struggled against his chains. He hardly understood a word the other said, much less could he remember his own mother tongue or even a scrap of Common. Panicked breathing set in, but the Vampire figured if he were to die, he would have been dead already. Torture, then, it was only fitting for his crime of being a degenerate tick. His chest felt like it was about to cave in around his unbeating heart. Blood, stolen blood, surged through his veins.

Eventually, he struggled out in a toss of broken Common and Vampiric: "Please, don't hurt me," a phrase he repeated between gasps for air and watery sobs. Nextor, above all else, was a fucking coward.

The Vampiric words were not something a Fae lord would understand completely, but each time Nextor repeated his chant he got closer and closer to Common in such a way that anyone could manage to piece out his meaning. He broke down into prayer, eventually just using Vampiric as Common was too hard for his brain to process, threats and curses to the Goddex Ai-ei telling them that if he perished, he would burn the Afterdeath to the ground. Again, nothing any Fae would be able to translate. Which was probably for the best, seeing as Nextor was already looking very pathetic.

Killian lost his smile as he watched his captive struggle, his bloodlust ebbing away along with the bitterness of a past life. While Killian couldn't rule out this vampire being a spy, the creature was clearly scared, just as his people were. Adriel would have teased him for having a soft heart and probably would have killed the vampire himself without a second thought, but Killian didn't need more bloodshed tonight. The saytre had been enough.

He tipped his head, his brow creasing as he tried to recall the little Vampiric he had bothered to learn who knew how long ago. At least the vampire seemed to know some common tongue, though it took Killian a bit more effort to adjust from his Fae tongue accent "I am not going to hurt you, hreremus," he replied, hoping that it would be enough to calm the being. It was not. The longer Killian sat there, the more hysteric the vampire became, now completely switching back to Vampiric, all of which Killian lost hope to even begin to understand. He sighed softly and stood, temporarily debating whether he had been cursed alongside his brother all those centuries ago. The old Killian wouldn't even consider what he was about to do in any realm of possibility, fiction or otherwise. Then again, he had thought in no universe would his brother be taken from him.

He took the blade he had carefully propped against the wall and carefully made a thin cut on his wrist, just deep enough to have a few beads of blood well to the surface, the crimson swirling with silver was almost mesmerizing. He slowly came to stand in front of the vampire and offered him his arm just out of reach from his mouth. "Feed, but do not bite." He ordered in common tongue, hoping the little comprehension the vampire had left was enough for him to understand.

Nextor abruptly stopped his babbling once he smelled blood. He wasn't by any means hungry, and too much blood would affect him in strange ways. But certainly, the offer of an immortal's blood was too tantalizing to resist. He processed the idea, vaguely, that he shouldn't take too much but instead be slow and deliberate. He didn't wish to harm anyone anyways, usually he only ate animals and didn't dare hunt for anything more sentient than a Bumble or a Whimzle (a bowlegged, thin and pale fuzzy creature that stood at about 3 feet at the shoulder that could mimic sounds to the point of sounding intelligent, but didn't truly understand the context of where those sounds came from. There were a lot of those in Hua, where he'd come from, as well as many in his sister's kingdom-not too many, however, in the Fae realm. The Fae didn't tolerate much mockery and these things were easy targets for misplaced wrath. Whimzles could make a very good meal, at least six day's worth if you worked through the hunger pangs).

Nextor leaned forward, lapped up some of the blood, and then proceeded to excrete a strange golden substance from his fangs that anyone in the know if Vampires knew was meant to heal over wounds. Typically, this meant the Vampire's own wounds, but it could work on virtually anyone. He sat back, watched as the gold substance formed a netting around the wound, then disappeared into the skin and taking all the surrounding scars as well as the previous wound with it. A peace offering of sorts.

He spoke, in broken Common with a few Vampiric words mixed in, "Thank you. You are kinder than most Fae I have met." he said. When Nextor looked up at the Fae, you could see his face had visibly decreased in lines, a man once pushing his forties was now in his early twenties. It was a bit unnerving, even to those who had been around a Vampire for centuries and knew what to expect.

"Please tell me what happened, my memories of the past few days are a little… how does one speak of… ah, yes, I am confused." he said. "And did anyone by chance collect of my alchemy kit? I am… a special type of person, I have treatments I need to utilize to stay… whole, healthy, less insane." Nextor wasn't lying. He could augment the blood in his body to pass as any man birthed male would, like hormone therapies in a modern, less fantasy world would to a human trans man.

Not that Nextor could even dream of such treatments, so let's get back into the less real reality of Vampires and Fae, shall we? The point was, he appeared as a man to most people. But unlike how Nextor's treatments usually left some permanent changes on humans (you see, he had a friend a while ago who he'd helped in the same way, only to make herself more feminine instead of masculine) Nextor was a creature of fluctuation, and it was unlikely the changes he'd make to himself would last longer than a month if he didn't consistently augment his blood each day. And he generally got very depressed when he didn't treat himself, to the point of staking his own pathetic heart.

Killian watched in his own morbid curiosity as the vampire paused in what seemed to be a prayer to some deity or another, none Killian recognized through his limited understanding of vampiric, and focused on the blood now slowly dripping down his forarm. He was about to repeat the warning again, worried the vampire had possibly misheard the first time but then the other slowly leaned in and lapped at the shimmering blood.
Killian had expected to somehow feel violated or revolted by the sight of another drinking his blood. He was royalty, though he had felt anything but like a king in the past few decades. Regardless of fae blood, royal fae blood was coveted by extension. A weapon and a gift of the immortal beings. Killian had never paid much attention to that bit of his own history, his blood having been spilled over countless battlefields in his lifetime, but giving it away freely, especially to a strange vampire, seemed like something more volatile than just satiating hunger. It didn't feel like the countless deals he had made, there wasn't anything, in particular, Killikan wanted from the vampire other than not wanting to put his citizens in danger, and there wasn't much the vampire seemed to want other than safety which Killian had already implied was a given for now.
This wasn't to say there wasn't something the Vampire could give if Killian were so inclined to stake claim to the deal. He also hadn't done that in very long. Long ago were the days when Killian and Adriel would walk into some lord or another kingdom entirely as if they owned the place and had made them strike a deal, all for the safety of their citizens or if the ruler were ruthless as most fae were, the sacrifice of their kingdom for their own safety. Killian and Adriel were, of course, the happiest to comply, if only for the delicious satisfaction they felt when they saw the instant regret of a king or noble with nothing but a title, not even his own people to rule over. That feeling had been better than any gold or pleasures offered.
Killian took in a sharp breath, rousing from his thoughts as the light caught the vampire's fangs, and for a moment, Killian was about to jerk away. "No-!" he paused, mesmerized as the gold substance from the vampire's fangs momentarily intertwined with the silver in his blood before sealing it away once again. He lightly touched the area, expecting the delicate layer to break but it was surprisingly strong. He then traced where it had spidered out towards the scars that were scattered on his skin, briefly thinking how lovely battle scars looked in gold against his pale skin.
He flicked his gaze up to meet the vampires, barely nodding a thank you. Peace would be held for now. Killian sat back down in the chair across from his unexpected guest, a half smile crossing his features, revealing a few predatory fangs of his own. "Do not mistake this for kindness, Hreremus. You're not worth the trouble killing for now. Though depending on the importance of that saytre, that may change." He warned as his emerald gaze took in each detail of his captive. He was skinny, but Killian knew better than to underestimate someone so lean. The fact alone that they had taken out two of his well-trained guards was proof enough that the vampire was dangerous.
"If I'm being honest, as am I. We don't usually see many Baobhan Sith here." He explained through his own broken Common tongue and fae. He tipped his head, his curiosity taking over once again over his survival instinct. "Alchemy Kit?" He stumbled over the foreign words before shaking his head. "my captain spoke none of an 'alchemy kit' Perhaps they brought some of your belongings in when they took you here." he mused with a slight shrug. "We may have similar here if your alchemy kit is not recovered. For a price of course." Perhaps he hadn't lost his true nature just yet.

“I would thank you kindly if you would retrieve my belongings. I always keep a spare phial or two on my person, but my treatments are necessary for me to maintain my…” Nextor searched for the best word that would convey his sincerity, “composure.” he settled, flexing his fingers so long ago stained with Holy Water. It hurt to do so, but then again, didn’t Nextor deserve the pain? “I would appreciate if you would undo these bindings. I won’t hurt anyone, goodness knows I regret my actions towards your… beloved ones? Possessions, perhaps. Your people, irregardless. I don’t normally let myself go so thoroughly into bloodlust. The creature I fed on before everything went… well, out, was a strange one, a being known for its poisons. But poison means nothing to a dead thing, so you can imagine my being of the… surprised, yes, that is the word, when I found that such poison intoxicated my mind and heart instead of merely burning my insides to outsides.”

Nextor hoped that that would be an apology enough to get him free from this mess, so he could further explain himself and make amends enough to escape from this wretched snowy kingdom and get back to his sister, to save his poor nephew. “I would be sincere in my promising, yes, that not a person will come to harm if I am merely unbound. I don’t want to cause undue suffering.”

"what would be so wrong about losing a bit of composure?" Killian asked, resting his chin on a fisted hand. He would almost look innocent if it weren't for the grin on his features. For all his haste to get back to his current issue of taking care of his citizens, he sure did take his time when it came to playing with his prey. "We will see what we can do about your possessions." He relented, though it really wouldn't be a stretch on resources. Guards were already patrolling the territory, looking for citizens and enemies alike. Asking to find this kit, indeed something out of place in the snowy white landscape would be easy enough, especially if it didn't belong there, to begin with. He raised an eyebrow, his smile falling. "You'll have to understand my hesitance to let you go, Hreremus. We are in times of war and bloodshed from every side, and no one can be trusted. I can't go off of your good word when I have lives to protect, and you've already taken one. I will not put my people in any more danger than they already are." By now, Killian had lost his smile. If he was to be serious about anything, it was keeping his people safe. The vampire had fed on a Saytre and who knows what other creature. What would keep him from feeding on another being if his hunger returned? Again, Adriel came to mind. Where Killian liked to play for his food, Adriel was a snake and struck fast, killing without hesitation, and, if he remembered or cared enough, would ask questions later. But his dear brother wasn't there, his dear brother wasn't dealing with a Hreremus and an impending war, and citizens who desperately needed shelter and help. He took a deep breath and stood. "I am not inclined to keep prisoners, but I cannot let you go." He went behind the vampire's chair and undid the bindings that kept him tied to the chair but not the bindings that kept his hands together. "However, I am willing to make a deal." He motioned for the vampire to stand, trusting him enough not to lash out, at least while Killian had something to offer. "I am in a predicament concerning my kin. A sort of curse, if you will. You mentioned alchemy before; I assume you are a doctor of some sort. At the very least, a scholar if you have such knowledge. I know very little about that expertise, so I have not been able to explore the possibilities of a cure in that way. If you help me with my brother's curse, then I'll grant you safe passage through the Faewild. You would be a most honored guest here as well, should you choose to return." He gave a slight shrug, his polite visage dropping once again as he locked eyes with his prisoner, "and if you refuse, you're more than welcome to leave any time you'd like. But I can't guarantee the Wilde will be as kind to you as I."