Though Vayne was usually discreet in expression, he could not hide the lift of his eyebrows or the slight tilt of his chin. Perhaps Tifa noticed herself, the sudden ripple of surprise - or intrigue - that spread across his face as she spoke.
"Interesting." His smile was one of wry approval. "I believe that is the first you have ever called me by name."
There was a saying in the Old Archadian tongue, some proverb that translated roughly to how a man should know he has the favor of the stars to hear his name spoken in the voice of a fascinating woman. Since learning the truth of the nethicite, Vayne no longer cared if he had the favor of the stars - but hearing Tifa demand this of him by name reminded him that, once, he'd believed it. His smile smoothing back into a flat line, Vayne set the wine glasses on the small Galtean end table beneath the painting.
"Dalmasca knows peace under my rule. Your friend walks a free man. You stand here untouched. I keep my promises, Tifa. My every promise." For the second time that night, Vayne leaned toward Tifa close enough that he could feel the breath from her lips puffing near his, warm and heavy with fear for her Princess. This time his eyes were dark. His composure fled him, and his whisper found the edge of a growl.
"And I promise to make you mine."
He drew back after a moment, her scent still in his nostrils. Collecting himself, Vayne brought a wrist to his hand, beginning to undo the buttons of his cuff. "My terms are unchanged," he said. "I trust you still remember them?"
no subject
"Interesting." His smile was one of wry approval. "I believe that is the first you have ever called me by name."
There was a saying in the Old Archadian tongue, some proverb that translated roughly to how a man should know he has the favor of the stars to hear his name spoken in the voice of a fascinating woman. Since learning the truth of the nethicite, Vayne no longer cared if he had the favor of the stars - but hearing Tifa demand this of him by name reminded him that, once, he'd believed it. His smile smoothing back into a flat line, Vayne set the wine glasses on the small Galtean end table beneath the painting.
"Dalmasca knows peace under my rule. Your friend walks a free man. You stand here untouched. I keep my promises, Tifa. My every promise." For the second time that night, Vayne leaned toward Tifa close enough that he could feel the breath from her lips puffing near his, warm and heavy with fear for her Princess. This time his eyes were dark. His composure fled him, and his whisper found the edge of a growl.
"And I promise to make you mine."
He drew back after a moment, her scent still in his nostrils. Collecting himself, Vayne brought a wrist to his hand, beginning to undo the buttons of his cuff. "My terms are unchanged," he said. "I trust you still remember them?"