[ Rafa watches, his eyes dark. Unfortunately, the whole thing ends up a disappointment. Hunter is a statue that won't fight or be moved, and the thralls' attempts are nothing but ineffectual. Rafa sighs, and leans back in his chair. ]

You are no fun.

[ He says, and lifts his finger again. The thralls stop and draw back, each of them watching Hunter with wary uncertainty. Even now, their eyes keep flicking towards Rafa.

Rafa ignores them, and stands again. He shrugs off his jacket, a plush, burgundy number he'd picked up on the way here. Beneath it, his clothes are well-fitted and black. He steps away from the throne and towards his husband. ]

Well then, I shall do it myself. Take me, my love. If you can.