Ah, but it seems all my leads have been so kindly taken care of by a mysterious stranger, so I'm free as a bird! What a lucky coincidence, don't you think?
[ He keeps his voice as playful as usual, but there's no mistaking how his expression sharpens as he takes in every detail of the scene. He may not be able to read Diluc's mind the way he used to, but body language is still body language, and right now it's telling him that there's a good chance the man will collapse halfway to the winery and probably be eaten by slimes if he lets him go now. Diluc's grandstanding might be enough to fool most, but Kaeya's seen him at his best and worst more times than he can count; he knows full well there's no way someone so proud and impassive, someone who wields a claymore as lightly as a feather, would ever lean on it for support unless he had no other choice.
Hidden deep within his pockets, his fingers curl with the long ingrained instinct to take the claymore's place, to be the one to catch Diluc when he stumbles. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated to rush over and shoulder Diluc's burdens as his own; once, Diluc would have dropped the facade of the invincible warrior and let him, putting up with the inevitable teasing with long-suffering good humor. He'd been so damn pleased with himself back then, glowing in smug self-satisfaction every time Diluc trusted him and him alone with all his struggles and vulnerabilities, his pride nearly enough to drown out the everpresent siren song of his guilt.
These days, the man's more liable to cut his hand off than take it should he offer it out for help. The ease of their childhood banter has long since been burnt to ashes; now, every conversation they have may as well be a chess game, each sentence carefully examined for traps and hidden meanings, each word planned ten steps ahead. No point in asking Diluc what the hell happened to him, not when it'll just get his hackles up, not when he's lost any right to express concern; no, the only way he can get what he wants is through being exactly what Diluc expects him to be, the coldhearted schemer and manipulator. ]
My, my. [ He raises an eyebrow and lets the smile on his face grow even wider, the crook of his mouth hooking up into a patronizing curl, shifting into a smug expression that multiple people on multiple occasions have informed him makes him look extremely punchable. ] Master Hero, are you drunk?
[ Obviously not - they both know Diluc abhors the taste of alcohol and would never indulge to the point of drunkeness, let alone before a fight. But short of regaining the man's trust - an impossibility for certain - riling him up is the best way he knows to make him slip all the little details that'll give him away. ]
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[ He keeps his voice as playful as usual, but there's no mistaking how his expression sharpens as he takes in every detail of the scene. He may not be able to read Diluc's mind the way he used to, but body language is still body language, and right now it's telling him that there's a good chance the man will collapse halfway to the winery and probably be eaten by slimes if he lets him go now. Diluc's grandstanding might be enough to fool most, but Kaeya's seen him at his best and worst more times than he can count; he knows full well there's no way someone so proud and impassive, someone who wields a claymore as lightly as a feather, would ever lean on it for support unless he had no other choice.
Hidden deep within his pockets, his fingers curl with the long ingrained instinct to take the claymore's place, to be the one to catch Diluc when he stumbles. Once, he wouldn't have hesitated to rush over and shoulder Diluc's burdens as his own; once, Diluc would have dropped the facade of the invincible warrior and let him, putting up with the inevitable teasing with long-suffering good humor. He'd been so damn pleased with himself back then, glowing in smug self-satisfaction every time Diluc trusted him and him alone with all his struggles and vulnerabilities, his pride nearly enough to drown out the everpresent siren song of his guilt.
These days, the man's more liable to cut his hand off than take it should he offer it out for help. The ease of their childhood banter has long since been burnt to ashes; now, every conversation they have may as well be a chess game, each sentence carefully examined for traps and hidden meanings, each word planned ten steps ahead. No point in asking Diluc what the hell happened to him, not when it'll just get his hackles up, not when he's lost any right to express concern; no, the only way he can get what he wants is through being exactly what Diluc expects him to be, the coldhearted schemer and manipulator. ]
My, my. [ He raises an eyebrow and lets the smile on his face grow even wider, the crook of his mouth hooking up into a patronizing curl, shifting into a smug expression that multiple people on multiple occasions have informed him makes him look extremely punchable. ] Master Hero, are you drunk?
[ Obviously not - they both know Diluc abhors the taste of alcohol and would never indulge to the point of drunkeness, let alone before a fight. But short of regaining the man's trust - an impossibility for certain - riling him up is the best way he knows to make him slip all the little details that'll give him away. ]