He only needed to hear her tone to know how deeply he'd cut. Yet no smile found his lips. Vayne imagined Tifa's bond with that boy was more complicated than his barb suggested. Friendships made in childhood, as he'd guessed they had, often were. But the truth of their relationship was their own affair. It wasn't the purpose of his words, besides.
"I am glad to hear it," he replied, setting the bottle down once the wine had been poured. "You are my guest, after all. It would have displeased me if you'd starved yourself."
Vayne crossed over the room, walking to Tifa with a glass in either hand. As blithe as he seemed, Vayne did slow somewhat to appreciate the cascade of her hair down her back. Free of its braid, and freshly washed, it caught some of the dimming sunset beyond the window and allowed the light to play across her dark brown strands.
He wondered what it would be like to seize his fingers in that hair.
The tension of the thought filled the fingers he had around one glass. Vayne dismissed it, lifting his eyes to the large painting before them as he came to a stop beside her. "You've an eye for art," he said to Tifa, as though they were a couple strolling through the gardens of the Verdpale in its prime. "This was a gift to the Royal Family by King Harithas of Nabradia, father to the late Prince Rasler. Painted by his own hand, no less. And..." A short breath left his nose, as if the irony demanded it. "Given on the occasion of Princess Ashelia's birth."
Vayne turned to Tifa, offering her a glass of the Valendian red. "Shall we drink to her good health?" An eyebrow twitched, and his head tilted with a sort of expectant curiosity as he looked down into her face. "Or is it her freedom you think to procure next?"
no subject
"I am glad to hear it," he replied, setting the bottle down once the wine had been poured. "You are my guest, after all. It would have displeased me if you'd starved yourself."
Vayne crossed over the room, walking to Tifa with a glass in either hand. As blithe as he seemed, Vayne did slow somewhat to appreciate the cascade of her hair down her back. Free of its braid, and freshly washed, it caught some of the dimming sunset beyond the window and allowed the light to play across her dark brown strands.
He wondered what it would be like to seize his fingers in that hair.
The tension of the thought filled the fingers he had around one glass. Vayne dismissed it, lifting his eyes to the large painting before them as he came to a stop beside her. "You've an eye for art," he said to Tifa, as though they were a couple strolling through the gardens of the Verdpale in its prime. "This was a gift to the Royal Family by King Harithas of Nabradia, father to the late Prince Rasler. Painted by his own hand, no less. And..." A short breath left his nose, as if the irony demanded it. "Given on the occasion of Princess Ashelia's birth."
Vayne turned to Tifa, offering her a glass of the Valendian red. "Shall we drink to her good health?" An eyebrow twitched, and his head tilted with a sort of expectant curiosity as he looked down into her face. "Or is it her freedom you think to procure next?"