[That gets a short, derisive laugh from Jyuto. They both know how futile asking any favours of the Empire is, as nice as it would be to have a surplus of extra rupies to pour into the 0.0000000001% chance of rolling Bahamut.]
I'll leave the cell warming to you, thank you.
[No use ruffling feathers when there's no point in doing it, but while they're on the subject of the Phantagrande economy, Jyuto reaches down between them to pull out one of the drawers on the underside of the desk, deftly fetching his dwindling packet of smokes. There's only one left, and given how things usually go when Akira's involved, he'll probably need it.]
We have different ideas of what constitutes 'nice.' [But he's still smiling minutely as he says it, holding the cigarette between his teeth at the side of his mouth so he can still speak while he wonders where the hell his lighter went. No prizes for guessing, probably; he knows he'd put that last one out before he'd left.] I only miss having something entertaining to keep me occupied. Nobody else on the island likes committing a felony quite as stylishly as you.
[He really shouldn't be complimenting him, but he's done worse by now, so who's counting. He shifts where he's sitting to rest a foot against the arm of his chair, a more comfortable position than balancing his weight on his butt the entire time -- and a way to frame the space around them, shuttered down to the two of them, alone.]
Lighters feel like a step down, though, wouldn't you say?
no subject
I'll leave the cell warming to you, thank you.
[No use ruffling feathers when there's no point in doing it, but while they're on the subject of the Phantagrande economy, Jyuto reaches down between them to pull out one of the drawers on the underside of the desk, deftly fetching his dwindling packet of smokes. There's only one left, and given how things usually go when Akira's involved, he'll probably need it.]
We have different ideas of what constitutes 'nice.' [But he's still smiling minutely as he says it, holding the cigarette between his teeth at the side of his mouth so he can still speak while he wonders where the hell his lighter went. No prizes for guessing, probably; he knows he'd put that last one out before he'd left.] I only miss having something entertaining to keep me occupied. Nobody else on the island likes committing a felony quite as stylishly as you.
[He really shouldn't be complimenting him, but he's done worse by now, so who's counting. He shifts where he's sitting to rest a foot against the arm of his chair, a more comfortable position than balancing his weight on his butt the entire time -- and a way to frame the space around them, shuttered down to the two of them, alone.]
Lighters feel like a step down, though, wouldn't you say?