It was lunch, and Hiram was famished. He spent day in and day out training Eldouir, Dresmondi, and himself. He didn't need to whip around a sword. His personal training was strictly magical. He was stretching and reaching, pushing the boundaries of what he knew how to do. He was tasting blood left and right and letting the power of the magic from said blood become his own. He was on fire, quite figuratively, and it showed with his lively steps and wild eyes. This was what he live for. Training. Impending war. Magical power.

He entered the dining hall, already aware of who waited for him within, well accustomed to the way her blood moved through her body and the potency of the magic within it. Elena had been a consistent among the Eldouir, which was part of why she was one of his favorites. His golden eyes fell on her as he entered, and his tongue wet his lips.

"I hardly know which morsel to pounce on first." His low voice was much like a purr as he approached the table. Clearly he'd made his choice, but maybe the words would do their flattering job.

At the sound of his approaching footsteps, a sound she had grown very familiar with after all this time, she turned from the window as he entered the room. She smiled at his comment but thought little of it for the time being, especially when he moved towards the actual food. They two of them had shared a bed more times than she could count and it was always an experience. Being in bed with Hiram was worlds different than being in bed with anyone else.

She too moved to the table and took a seat, plucking a simple orange from a basket of fruit and digging her thumbnail into the rind to begin to peel it away. "Well would it really be me if I didn't tempt you with both?" she said with a little wink as she leaned back in her chair. As she finished peeling the orange she looked back up at Hiram. "Do you like it here?" she asked thoughtfully.

Hiram went for the meat and carbs, the food of sustenance for a man that burned through calories like a fire in a haystack. In seconds his hands, mouth, and beard were dirty, wet with the marinade that made the chicken he sunk his teeth into oh-so-tasty. He grunted in response to Elena’s jocular response, mildly entertained but not enough to put the food down and laugh.

With a cheek full of chicken and bread, his chewing slowed and his eyes found the woman who posed an actual interesting question. He regarded her quietly for a moment, and when his mouth was almost empty he responded.

“Dresmond was you and Myla.” The day they left Lorendale their plans had been put to a decision. Hiram had hung back and allowed Myla and Elena to choose, and here they were. He hasn’t exactly answered her question, but also maybe he had in a way.

It wasn't much of an answer but it was a very Hiram response. Had she expected much more than that? He was a mess while he ate which, again, was very in character for him. Had she ever seen him eat a polite meal? She couldn't remember if she had. While it was not an attractive quality it had stopped grossing her out long ago. It was just part of who he was and even with habits she didn't love, he had proved to her many times over that he was worthy of her undying support.

"I miss Lorendale," she said casually, peeling apart one of the orange segments and gently rubbing her bottom lip over it, feeling the texture as the sweetness teased her tastebuds. Now that she was thinking about, Hiram certainly did fit in here more than he did at all those upper class parties that they had attended. "I miss all our nice stuff." She wasn't expected him to sympathize, she was just talking.

Then she slowly grinned, a growing fire in her eyes. "I miss a good fight." She was speaking of the upcoming plans for war, something she was itching for. Ever since taking over Dresmond there had been only a few times in which they had had to exert their power. Yes, she was looking forward to the fight again.

Hiram kept eating. He couldn't relate. He didn't care about nice things. He fit in best in Coheed, in fact, a reality he had come to terms with seasons ago. But Coheed wasn't for him. Was there any place for him? Where Eldouirs, he supposed, but he also didn't think too long or deeply about it.

Her comment about missing a good fight caught his interest. His eyes flickered up from his food. Elena was good at what she did. Not the best, but one of them.

"We've got a fight." He informed her. Surely she had noticed the increased training.

Ready to fully engage in the conversation, Elena leaned forward with her palms spread on the table as he replied. "And what is this mysterious fight?" she asked him directly. If it was anyone else she would have laid down the 'As Queen I should know these things' bit, but she wasn't about to pull that card with the head of the family. She was bold and ambitious, but she wasn't stuid.

Hiram smirked, chewing still, and eyed her with a knowing look.

"If I tell you then it won't be a mystery." He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, relishing this moment of having something she wanted and not giving it to her. Maybe she'd try harder.

Hiram could be so maddening. In fact it was more than the fact that he 'could' be and more that he was like this the majority of the time. Nothing was ever easy with him. Nothing. Perhaps that's what made him such a formidable leader. People, including herself, admired him and wanted to gain his approval, they served him fervently, but she often wondered if anyone actually liked him. Without his powers and his title as head of the family, what would Hiram Eldouir be like? She pushed away the thought, there was no point in speculating something that never was nor ever would be. If every Eldouir died in this war, she knew that Hiram would be the lone survivor and would continue on as he always had.

Elena moved from her chair and moved closer to Hiram where she sat up on the table beside his plate of food. "If you tell me, I can be of more help to you," she said, moving to brush her fingers over his greasy beard.

A fun thought Elena was having, and likely spot on. Perhaps a day would come when the world would be forced to look upon the burly redheaded man without any of his current abilities…but today was not that day.

He eyed Elena’s advance, taking a swig from the closest mug and setting it down just as she snagged his beard.

“But there’s the rub,” he said, eyes shining, grin beaming, “I don’t need your help.” And now it was time for show and tell. He opened his mouth as if to take another bite, but instead of raising food into it Elena would see a stream of her blood leaving her nose. If she did nothing to stop it, he would pull the stream into his mouth and swallow. Part 1 of the display.

Ouch. Talk about a blow to the emotional gut. He didn't need her help. She was about to open her mouth to protest but was distracted by the uncomfortable and warm sensation of a nosebleed. She automatically moved her hand to her nose only to realize that Hiram was controlling the blood and before she thought of stopping him, he had swallowed it.

Hiram ingested Elena. She was sweet, of course she was, and the buzz of her magic was intoxicating. Hiram’s jaw twitched from side to side and his eyes rolled back for a moment.

“Delicious.” The word was a murmur of praise, as of he’d drank something Elena had created. Her gift was one he was well familiar with. He had had a heavy hand in her training. Already he could feel that it was not as volatile and uncontrolled as Myla’s. Hers was, in fact, a similar flavor as his. Manipulation.

Hiram’s eyes snapped to Elena’s face, and without warning he raised his hand and every dish from the table at once went flying from it in a chaotic mess.

Someone unfamiliar with Hiram would have certainly found it horrifying and disgusting for the man to claim her blood was delicious. Yet Elena was very familiar with him and while part of her thought nothing at all of the comment, another part was secretly pleased that he found it favorable.

Any such thought was quickly forgotten as suddenly Hiram lifted all the dishes from the table. It wasn't something that he had ever done before. It was only something she had done. She looked confused for a moment, even looked at her own hands briefly before turning back to Hiram feeling awed, terrified, and somehow violated. "Did- did you just use my- my gift?" she asked bewildered.

Hiram relished the expression on her face. It was indeed a violating thing to drink from the source of one's power and to assume it. It wasn't a cheap replication, but the very gift, though only bestowed upon him temporarily. No gifted was unique any longer. With a sip, Hiram could do as they did. To hammer the point home, he focused on the dishes on the floor, and turned his open palm into a fist. The plates and food alike melted away, mutating from their current forms, becoming one large pool of blood.

Did he need to answer her? The action surely would be answer enough. But because Hiram didn't mind speaking,

"I used my gift."