A tight grip and an implicit command.
She needs nothing more to inspire her into action. Physical expectation is more than enough and she is soon stepping from her cage to walk the Chateau’s deserted hallways. It is quiet, tonight; only a few slaves are being used, hardly any shouting in complaint. Yet Flora does not notice such matters. He has twirled his puppet-master fingers around her strings and she thinks only of dancing to his command.
"I’d like your car," she simply says, pausing as a guard swings open the door onto the grounds.
The car is a small space.
To this she holds, as the barren expanse opens before her — dry ground with the odd patch of struggling foliage, the gates to the city so, so far away. She is vulnerable here, away from her cell’s firm, strong walls and comforting shadows.
She does not like it.
The old wolf finds himself taking a liking to this one. The girl drips with utter and complete submission. He wouldn't have minded breaking her in himself, yet he finds the fact the job is done for him already that more enticing. He watches the blonde flower make her way ahead, Whistler wets his lips as he smirks. "So the car it is--"
The remote pulled from his pocket, unlocking the mustang that was parked just at the curb of the building. He was close behind her, chin brushing the top of her head as his nose scented in deeply as he dipped his head beside her neck. The wolf wanted the girl to be covered in his scent. For those who were of supernatural blood to smell his skin upon hers when they walked past her cell.
When they came to the door of the car, he opened the passenger side of her. "Get in." He walked around to the driver's side, revving up the engine as he didn't wait for her to buckle in before he sped off in the car to the west side of Covaire.
