Neither did one of the Judges, who cast a look at his Consul as he departed, no doubt wondering if he might be given a curt nod to reprimand the newly-freed insurgent. But none came. As Cloud was led out of the chamber with that veiled threat, Vayne might have worn the expression on his face to a play whose ending he already knew. He simply watched the man go. After all, he'd known him for a night's flight already. Read him, rather. This was no surprise...as was what Vayne recognized in his exchange with Tifa.
The Judges closed the doors behind them, and Cloud passed out of sight, and then they were alone.
Vayne let a moment pass before he rounded on Tifa, meeting the wary and expectant stare of those wine-dark eyes. Again there was that whisper of possible intent. He looked at her as though he might brush a lock of hair from her forehead, or cup her chin, or otherwise disdain the promise he'd made. No motion came - but then he leaned in, chin tipping toward his chest in a motion familiar to any woman who has known a lover leaning in for a kiss.
And Vayne stopped, and whispered in a flat, hard tone:
"You know he will never love you back, Tifa."
He let the words hang there, in the short distance between their faces. Then he pulled away, and paced to the side of that grand bed, where the bottle of rich Valens red from the night before still sat half-spent on the table. Vayne took it, and one of the two glasses by its side.
"I trust you enjoyed your stay," he went on, as if he'd only just walked in. He poured a glass - and then a second. "Were you fed as well? Have you a thirst?"
no subject
The Judges closed the doors behind them, and Cloud passed out of sight, and then they were alone.
Vayne let a moment pass before he rounded on Tifa, meeting the wary and expectant stare of those wine-dark eyes. Again there was that whisper of possible intent. He looked at her as though he might brush a lock of hair from her forehead, or cup her chin, or otherwise disdain the promise he'd made. No motion came - but then he leaned in, chin tipping toward his chest in a motion familiar to any woman who has known a lover leaning in for a kiss.
And Vayne stopped, and whispered in a flat, hard tone:
"You know he will never love you back, Tifa."
He let the words hang there, in the short distance between their faces. Then he pulled away, and paced to the side of that grand bed, where the bottle of rich Valens red from the night before still sat half-spent on the table. Vayne took it, and one of the two glasses by its side.
"I trust you enjoyed your stay," he went on, as if he'd only just walked in. He poured a glass - and then a second. "Were you fed as well? Have you a thirst?"