Nyimara seems quite pleased to learn of Marceline's salacious past, if the coy smirk that crawls across her maw is any indication. To know that he is not alone in this vendetta, that there are others whom Marceline has wronged so terribly that they, too, desire righteous retribution against her, is positively thrilling. But not as thrilling as watching Nyimara step closer, and closer, until the space between them has shrunk and she is so close he can feel the heat of her breath upon him. "Bore me? I doubt you could do such a thing."

Indeed, she was the most intriguing thing he had come across in his short time on the Islands. Despite his reservations about mares bearing the burden of leadership, he had to admit she wore her power well. It fit her, like a second skin, effortless and natural.

Boldly, Mattheo reaches out to brush his nose along the curve of her neck, humming thoughtfully as he considers her question. Slowly, intimately, he trails his nose up towards her ear, his lips a hair's breadth away from touching her. "I don't just intend to make her bleed," he whispers against the delicate cup of her ear, his voice dropping an octave, "I intend to make her suffer. I will take away everything she holds dear, rob her of any power she has, and make her feel as low as the dirt beneath our hooves, so she finally knows the same pain she inflicted on our family all those years ago."

A devilish grin tugs at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to catch her dark gaze beneath the pale fan of her lashes. "Now tell me, Nyimara," he croons, "since it seems we are aligned in this goal, what say you to helping one another?" Oh, what a beautiful partnership it could be. They could become the instruments of Marceline's undoing. They could revel together in the sweet satisfaction of her downfall, and perhaps, if they were lucky, build something beautiful in the process.