#raphaelcolt.

“Listen. I don’t know what the fuck kind of dancing you call that, but you boutta learn today.”  Hand played in her hair, patting the back of head for a minute before laugh echoed through the room. “Help me with this shit and then were gonna see if you can drop it low and buss it wide open.” Bending down, she was attempting to push the couch back and out of the way, followed by the coffee table to give them some room. 

He was walking out to meet the man, who had since been given a name and more importantly - identified as a slave, Ayda’s claim. He didn’t have any problem with that, after all there was zero interest in the way of making a lasting impression in that sense. Instead, it was an interest in the fight that had so clearly been embedded in him, similar to the one that ran in Caiden’s veins. It was impressive, he rarely found those that had the whispers of a warrior somewhere around them. So, of course arrangements had been made. Bare chested, blood painting the side of face like it was a badge of honor as he spoke. “You seem like you know your way around a fight, and she agrees it would be good for you, so you up for it?” Questioned, not forced.