A deadly calm exudes from Coselle as Keith explains (with a smile on his face that he simply cannot hold back) that despite all of his careful planning, dessert was forgotten. "How cruel of you to smile when relaying such terrible news," Coselle mock-admonishes her lover in a sing-song voice. "Almost as if you enjoy seeing me with this unfulfilled craving." Despite her high, airy tone, Coselle's laugh issues from deep within her throat. "No dessert? What a pity... Ah, but it is no great matter, right?" Coselle moves to gently slide her hands over Keith's shoulders, as if about to embrace him, when a sudden force springs from her palms mid-motion, using an almost unnatural amount of force for such a petit young woman to push her lover to the blanketed ground, like a tiger springs to pin its prey. She carefully lifts his chin up to expose his neck, kissing the bared flesh with the slightest bit of bite in the aftermath. She laughs like a fallen angel; hellish in intent, yet with every promise of heaven. "You have always been sweet to me, have you not? Look at you... So well-dressed, so put-together... a real gentleman. Yet you taunt me so... leave me wanting." Coselle cackles with lust-induced madness, ripping at his shirt. "I refuse to take much more of your cruelty... perhaps I should teach you a lesson."
After Coselle re-adjusts her dress, re-zipping and re-tying all that had become undone, she immediately looks around for her purse, soon finding it tossed to the side of the blanket, presumably in the throes of romance. Pulling out a compact and a small, blue disposable hookah, Coselle looks with some measure of disgust at her disheveled hair in the reflection of the compact as she flips it open. The reflected Coselle's cheeks are flush with deep color, her eyes still glistening as her chest heaves with the deep breathing of recent exertion. Setting the compact down and uncapping the hookah's mouthpiece, she presses down the crown-shaped button and deeply inhales the blueberry-flavored smoke as she rummages for a comb to fix her wild mane, as well as a bit of lipstick to fix her smudged, pale mouth. Exhaling with the satisfaction of relieving her more base cravings, she sets the hookah down just long enough to reapply her lipstick. As she takes another drag, the lipstick forms a little red halo around her hookah's mouthpiece.
Keith, on the other hand, appears to need far more than a comb and a bit of makeup to return to a presentable state; his sides and back display an intricate latticework of scratches, some of which still bleed, and the tatters of his formerly immaculate dress shirt barely cover his wounds. His pants are stained with blood, though they seem to have held together more strongly in the face of the dark-haired woman's onslaught. As Coselle exhales a cloud of blueberry vapor, she gives him the once-over, admiring her handiwork with a sadistic little giggle.
"How do you feel?" She coos, a hint of seduction still lingering in her otherwise caring, gentle tone. She plays with the tatters of his shirt, her expression one of innocence and concern, though the little hellion was not about to fool anyone; of course, she knew this, but then again, perhaps there was some truth in her desire to hear from Keith how he was holding up.