[Sylus’s gaze flickers down to his wine glass, studying the way the light catches in the cool clear liquid as if it holds more interest than the man now sitting at his feet. He swirls the glass lazily, the movement almost hypnotic, before taking a slow sip. The taste is subtle, complex, actually delightful; nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching Ross’s reaction.
He lets Ross’s sputtering question remain unanswered for a second, seemingly unbothered by the sudden burst of fury. And decides to still not answer it.]
What was what? [His voice mild, almost bored, as if the answer is of no consequence to him. His red eyes remain fixed on the wine glass, but he doesn’t miss the way Ross’s left hand has clenched into a tight fist, drawn close as if shielding something.
That’s interesting. The left hand—an unconscious movement, perhaps, but one that reveals more than he likely intends. Sylus files it away. He’s used to assessing worth without needing to glance at a price tag, and this clenched fist is just another tax to the whole worth.]
no subject
He lets Ross’s sputtering question remain unanswered for a second, seemingly unbothered by the sudden burst of fury. And decides to still not answer it.]
What was what? [His voice mild, almost bored, as if the answer is of no consequence to him. His red eyes remain fixed on the wine glass, but he doesn’t miss the way Ross’s left hand has clenched into a tight fist, drawn close as if shielding something.
That’s interesting. The left hand—an unconscious movement, perhaps, but one that reveals more than he likely intends. Sylus files it away. He’s used to assessing worth without needing to glance at a price tag, and this clenched fist is just another tax to the whole worth.]
What did you think just happened?