laylah
in
springkink
Final Fantasy XII (Vayne/Cid)
Title: Nuances
Author: Laylah
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for Venat.
Word count: 500
Summary: Vayne, when he arrives, doesn't knock. He never does.
Unless I am mistaken much indeed, Venat says, your young man comes to visit you today.
"You mis-use the term," Cid replies. He does not look up from his notes. "The phrase 'your young man' implies a romantic entanglement."
And yet your boy is now a young man grown, Venat says, and nothing could be farther from romance.
Cid smiles briefly. "Turning your attention to the nuances of idiom?"
The student diligent must ne'er retire the curiosity that makes him so, Venat answers, and there is a teasing note in the buzzing voice that sounds almost like his own.
"Indeed," Cid agrees. He wonders for a moment if that was a proverb, if Occuria have such things. "Though idiom and social convention will teach you more of hume flaws than of our capabilities."
Venat laughs, which Cid suspects of being an affectation rather than a natural habit. The basest flaw contains within it still some insight for the mind that can descry it.
"Hmm," Cid says. "You do think highly of yourself." He makes a few more calculations -- he is almost satisfied with the performance of his new rook, but there is always room for improvement -- and Venat lapses into silence, fading into the soothing background presence that Cid has come to find comforting.
Vayne, when he arrives, doesn't knock. He never does. It's intended, Cid believes, to unnerve the company he keeps, to remind people of his prerogative as Gramis's heir apparent and perhaps occasionally to overhear things he's not meant to. Truthfully, it's more annoyance than anything.
Similarly, he begins conversations as though they are already in progress, as though he and Cid have already discussed the preliminaries of the text he carries; this Cid finds more palatable, more understandable, as he is often guilty of such habits himself. The conversation veers from engineering to military history to natural philosophy, and when Cid compliments a thoughtful connection, Vayne's smile is dazzling, handsome, unlike the restrained expression he makes in public.
Venat shivers against Cid's skin, whispers in his ear: Perhaps romance is not the word to choose, but can you say he seeks not your esteem?
Cid starts, and looks over his shoulder -- Venat is barely visible to him, most likely not to Vayne, still in hiding. There is no expression to read, no smirk to match the teasing words; Venat has no such, that he can see, save when wearing Ffamran's mother's mien, and Cid has made his distaste for that charade quite clear.
"Is something the matter?" Vayne asks. He leans forward in his chair, as though he would start from it at a moment's notice. His eyes are fixed on Cid's face, seeking answers, seeking --
Perhaps Venat is correct after all, Cid thinks, noting the way Vayne's lips part, the alert expression. How long has this been the case, and he blind to it?
"It's nothing," he says. A young emperor enamored of him could be quite the ally; he must tread carefully. "Please, continue."
Author: Laylah
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for Venat.
Word count: 500
Summary: Vayne, when he arrives, doesn't knock. He never does.
Unless I am mistaken much indeed, Venat says, your young man comes to visit you today.
"You mis-use the term," Cid replies. He does not look up from his notes. "The phrase 'your young man' implies a romantic entanglement."
And yet your boy is now a young man grown, Venat says, and nothing could be farther from romance.
Cid smiles briefly. "Turning your attention to the nuances of idiom?"
The student diligent must ne'er retire the curiosity that makes him so, Venat answers, and there is a teasing note in the buzzing voice that sounds almost like his own.
"Indeed," Cid agrees. He wonders for a moment if that was a proverb, if Occuria have such things. "Though idiom and social convention will teach you more of hume flaws than of our capabilities."
Venat laughs, which Cid suspects of being an affectation rather than a natural habit. The basest flaw contains within it still some insight for the mind that can descry it.
"Hmm," Cid says. "You do think highly of yourself." He makes a few more calculations -- he is almost satisfied with the performance of his new rook, but there is always room for improvement -- and Venat lapses into silence, fading into the soothing background presence that Cid has come to find comforting.
Vayne, when he arrives, doesn't knock. He never does. It's intended, Cid believes, to unnerve the company he keeps, to remind people of his prerogative as Gramis's heir apparent and perhaps occasionally to overhear things he's not meant to. Truthfully, it's more annoyance than anything.
Similarly, he begins conversations as though they are already in progress, as though he and Cid have already discussed the preliminaries of the text he carries; this Cid finds more palatable, more understandable, as he is often guilty of such habits himself. The conversation veers from engineering to military history to natural philosophy, and when Cid compliments a thoughtful connection, Vayne's smile is dazzling, handsome, unlike the restrained expression he makes in public.
Venat shivers against Cid's skin, whispers in his ear: Perhaps romance is not the word to choose, but can you say he seeks not your esteem?
Cid starts, and looks over his shoulder -- Venat is barely visible to him, most likely not to Vayne, still in hiding. There is no expression to read, no smirk to match the teasing words; Venat has no such, that he can see, save when wearing Ffamran's mother's mien, and Cid has made his distaste for that charade quite clear.
"Is something the matter?" Vayne asks. He leans forward in his chair, as though he would start from it at a moment's notice. His eyes are fixed on Cid's face, seeking answers, seeking --
Perhaps Venat is correct after all, Cid thinks, noting the way Vayne's lips part, the alert expression. How long has this been the case, and he blind to it?
"It's nothing," he says. A young emperor enamored of him could be quite the ally; he must tread carefully. "Please, continue."