[o] Ding

"Elves are more common and easier to get to than Witches. Doc himself is a real elusive bastard. I've had his blood once in the many years I've known him."

Tony laughed at Dick's comment.

"I do seem to be an asshole magnet, don't I?"

The woman clucked her tongue.

"Most of them keep to themselves now, though." Things had settled down recently.

Dimples appeared in his cheeks as she laughed. A more genuine smile appearing on his face.

"Good. I like the peace a quiet."

He shifted on the chair, resting his arm on the back. Much more relaxed then when Giacinto first entered the room.

"Can you please sit down? Rather then looming over me."

"Peace and quiet is boring. It makes me restless."

Tony hated being restless with no outlet for the energy she had. It usual led to unpleasant happenings. Generally for Dick.

"Nah, I like standing."

Giacinto raised her hand, fingertips dripping with blood and flicked.

Droplets of blood splattered over the surface of the table in a pretty pattern.

He eyed the blood splatter across the table and resisted the urge to get up and start cleaning. When he starts he can't stop.

"Was that really necessary?"

Plus it was unhygienic.

"I trust that you will clean it up."

It was her kitchen. As far as he knew, she took care of it.

"No," she replied honestly with a careless shrug.

It wasn't necessary. But it was amusing. It gave her something to do that wasn't terrorising innocent people.

She dipped her fingers in the bowl and repeated the action.

"I'll have the kitchen cleaned."

Icy eyes on the blood that soared in the air then splatter on the hard surface.

He crossed his arms and huffed.

"It is hard to believe you are three thousand years old."

He moved the bowl away from her.

"It's going to look like a murder scene in here."

"Five," she corrected. "Bar two centuries."

Four thousand eight hundred years, give or take a few, was her 'official' age. She couldn't give a definite number, but that was close enough to her true age as she could give.

The woman's lips curled upwards as the bowl was moved.

"This is no murder scene. I've seen murder scenes."

He threw his hands up in the air and dropped them down his sides, letting them swing.

"Even worst."

He glanced at the splatter of blood on the table and back up at the scantly clad woman.

"Fine. A small murder scene were the murderer tried to be careful but was sloppy."

The woman shook her head.

"Even then, it wouldn't look anything like this." Giacinto had seen many types of murder scenes. This looked nothing like one.

"This looks more like... a child that's gotten hold of a paintbrush and has been flicking red paint around. Or a bored woman that has nothing to do but annoy one of her underlings."

He crossed his arms in a 'whatever' motion.

"An underling?"

He never liked being called that. Originally because of its status. Now, it just made him think of someone that lacked a backbone. Bowing for their evil lord. Thanks Hollywood.

"Is their not a better term for that? Like, I don't know, friend, maybe?"

Sticking around with her for the last God knows how many years, he hoped he had gained that title at some point. Beyond 'annoying-brat' that he figures he may of been.

The woman leaned down, pinching his chin between her long fingers.

"You see me as your friend, little Dickie?" she crooned softly, a grin curling her lips as her red eyes sparked in amusement.

She always thought he saw her as a thorn in his side, rather than a friend.

She was amused and (more than a little) honoured - though she would never admit that - that he considered her a friend.

"Don't call be Dickie."

He shock his head and leaned back to get her hand off her chin. Wisps of hair bouncing around his face.

"When I feel like it."

His blasted skin was quick to show his embarrassment. He focused his eyes anywhere but on her.

"Though, in all honesty, it was mostly the reason I stuck around." He fidgeted, twisting his ring around his finger. "I mean..." He huffed and crossed his arms. "I guess if I had to choose someone it would be you."

He thought it was a mutual feeling. That little taunt started to make him think otherwise.

The woman's lips kicked up again, but this was a smile. Nothing like the smirks she'd been giving previously.

Her hand raised again to cup his cheek gently, thumb rubbing over his cheek in one soft caress.

"It'd be the same for you, in a pick and choose situation."

But then the teasing lilt of her lips returned and she pinched his cheek like an aunt would their tiny nephew. "Stop fidgeting. Someone would think you're a little child with anxiety issues. Not a five hundred year old Vampire."

The younger vampire leaned slightly into her hand, finding comfort into it. He felt relief knowing he was not making and idiot of himself.

His relaxed expression turned in to one of irritation and he went back to batting her hand away from his face.

"No they wont." He swatted her hand away. "Besides, you're not exactly one to talk."

He nodded towards the splatter of paint. As she put it, it looked like a child had gotten hold of a paintbrush and splattered red paint around.

"Is this the body of a child with anxiety?" the woman asked, once again cupping her breasts.

One hip jutted out and she pressed her lips together in the typical 'duckface' teenage girls seemed to love as she waggled her eyebrows.

"That was boredom, not anxiety."

"I never meant the anxiety bit. I meant the childish bit."

Dick rubbed his, now sore, cheek. He hated it when people did that to him.

"You are a child in a grown body. They make a mess when they are bored."

Which is normally why he could never be around children for long. They were cute and all, until they started to get destructive.

Giacinto laughed heartily.

"We're all like that. Most people grow old, not up."

She smirked at Dick and ruffled his wispy blond hair. "You're just too uptight about everything."

Dick was the designated adult of the coven.

"I'm not uptight."

His hair turned into frizz on top of his head from where she ruffled it. There was no need for a mirror for him to know that.

He undid the ponytail and combed his fingers through the platinum locks before putting it up and out the way again. Some unruly locks falling back into his face.

"I just like to act my age. Or, as they say, not my shoe size."

"Dick, babe, if you act your age, you're not going to be doing a lot. You dont see a lot of five hundred year olds strolling around, do you?"

Acting your age was almost a death sentence for Supernaturals.

Giacinto wasn't going to act her age. Ever.

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. His arms crossed in a manner that was definitely not a pout.

"Whatever."

He huffed a little.

"You know what I meant. Mature... Like."

Though that probably didn't sound very 'mature like'.

"Life's too dull to be mature-like, Dickie. Gotta make life fun somehow."

She grinned at the teen as he pouted at her. So cute.

She ruffled his hair again, messing up the blond locks with a low chuckle. It was fun getting on his goat.

He shot her an icy look.

"You just saw me redo that."

He took the hair band back out and comb out the fizz. He did not bother putting it back up again. She would probably just mess it up.

"And don't call me Dickie." Though he had a feeling she would probably keep doing so anyway. Still worth a shot.

He stood up and leaned against the table so they were closer to eye level. His neck was starting to ache from looking up at her.

"I did indeed," she agreed with a grin.

And the next time he did, she would mess it up again. Because annoying him with things as menial as this was fun.

The boy had such great reactions to little things.

"Do you have a problem with that name, Dickie?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Yeah, I do. "

He scowled at her as she used it again.

"It's annoying."

Plus, so many people had used it to tease him, he had come to loath it.

"Maybe I should take back what I said earlier if I had to choose someone. I think I would go with no one. Least it would be more peaceful that way."

"Too bad." She pat his cheek teasingly then raised the hand she had been running through the blood to lick the drying liquid off her fingers.

The woman hummed softly as the bland taste bled over her tongue. Yes, she definitely had to do something about the boring taste of the blood.

"You can't take back things like that," she chuckled, wagging her finger in front of him.