[Sylvain's declaration earns a look, finally, eye cold and blue as it stares him down in the small room.]
I couldn't say. Once, I thought I knew you well. I was wrong.
[It's a growling, hurt accusation that he regrets as soon as he's made it. Dimitri turns away again, as though uncaring if a knife comes for his back—it isn't as though he had checked Sylvain's person. Certainly he has other defenses in place. Perhaps he would welcome the attack; it would give him a reason to react with his own violence. The bloodlust in him is always boiling.
Dimitri unclasps the heavy, matted cloak from around his shoulders and dumps it carelessly to the floor. Then his clumsy fingers yank at the buckles and straps of his armor, letting each piece drop as though shedding a great burden, again uncaring that it puts him in a vulnerable position. Once the breastplate is off, he takes a ratty cloth and presses it over the wound in his shoulder; it's soaked red in seconds.]
Do not call me that. [Lower, burning ire. He isn't Sylvain's prince any longer. He is no one's.] Do you enjoy it? Being so easily tempted that you would crawl into the lap of whichever master beckons you first? I should have known your loyalty would be as superficial as your affections.
no subject
I couldn't say. Once, I thought I knew you well. I was wrong.
[It's a growling, hurt accusation that he regrets as soon as he's made it. Dimitri turns away again, as though uncaring if a knife comes for his back—it isn't as though he had checked Sylvain's person. Certainly he has other defenses in place. Perhaps he would welcome the attack; it would give him a reason to react with his own violence. The bloodlust in him is always boiling.
Dimitri unclasps the heavy, matted cloak from around his shoulders and dumps it carelessly to the floor. Then his clumsy fingers yank at the buckles and straps of his armor, letting each piece drop as though shedding a great burden, again uncaring that it puts him in a vulnerable position. Once the breastplate is off, he takes a ratty cloth and presses it over the wound in his shoulder; it's soaked red in seconds.]
Do not call me that. [Lower, burning ire. He isn't Sylvain's prince any longer. He is no one's.] Do you enjoy it? Being so easily tempted that you would crawl into the lap of whichever master beckons you first? I should have known your loyalty would be as superficial as your affections.