Tarquin was, without a doubt, angry. But it was not the type of anger that usually filled his veins; the type that caused him to act without thinking and was the cause of many an atrocity. It was the category of anger that was usually ignited out of frustration caused by disappointment when things became beyond his control or did not go as he expected. And having an unwanted visitor 'staying' in the room next door did nothing to quell his infernal annoyance.
He respected the woman merely because she was a female, as was natural for him to do so because of his Hellion nature. He was never born human and as a result, much to his fortune, never learned to discriminate based on gender. In Hellion society all were equal unless proven otherwise. And it was this belief that he kept with him even after his death and proved useful in many ways.
However, despite his innate respect for her, it was not indicated in any fashion, shape, or form that he wanted the woman to stay in his home. As far as he was concerned, only those he had invited to accompany him, were welcome to stay for as long as they please. Well, before he decided to kill them. This place had been his place of dark power; it belonged to him and him alone. And the fact that a stranger had sauntered in here so nonchalantly drove him mad far more than he would care to admit.
Tarquin muttered incoherent thunders to himself as his mind vented that anger: "She should not be here!" "Doesn't she know how to disrespectful it is to enter into someone's home uninvited!" "She'll be gone before first dawn..."
"No," he answered to himself, tossing his jacket aside and stripping out of his shirt, revealing the several scars that lay in slash formations on various parts of his torso. He reasoned with his much more rash self and convinced it that because he had pledged to become her host, and she his 'guest', he should and would treat her as such. "I have promised that she can stay and stay she will. She will leave when daylight arrives and I will have no questions about it." It may have been a bit on the creepy side to talk to himself but there were many occasions in which Tarquin's dual behaviors came into conflict with one another. On one side, he was a 'sane' man; on another, he was aggressive and deadly. More often than not, these personalities were one with each other.
After some consideration, he finally decided that it would be best if he went to apologize to the woman for his behavior, though a part of him justified that he had every right to be rude to her if he pleased. Walked back to the door, the light to his rooms several candles shining through as he opened it and casting his shadow along the opening slit. In he slithered in, like a silent assassin intent on it's prey, remembering to close the door behind him in a soft click. He walked over to the bedside, aware of the lone candle she had left burning near her. Watching with a certain fixation, Tarquin found himself studying the play of shadow the light made over her womanly form as it tossed to and fro.
As he stood over her, it was only now that he realized how beautiful she was. When it dawned on him that she was deep in slumber's grasp, his breath caught and decided it best that he return to his own chambers. But there was some charm in watching her sleep and there he stood, his feet riveted to her bedside.
