Chapter Text
"And I've already told Agatha, so don't think you can hold this over my head." Gil's jaw was set in defiance, which did nothing to hide the uncertain curl of her shoulders.
Tarvek resisted the urge to roll his eyes, or possibly to hit her. Did she really think so little of him? Yes, their relationship was tumultuous, but Tarvek wouldn't make fun of her for something like this. Not unless he really stood to gain. (If nothing else, he'd hate to burn his bridges with Violetta.)
None of his disgust showed on his face, of course. "I see," he said. "It's just as well. Maybe now you won't feel the need to indulge in those pointless displays of machismo. You were never any good at them anyway."
Gil's mouth worked, clearly trying to decide whether to take it as an insult. Tarvek was fine with either interpretation; the important thing was that she didn't look nearly as tentative. It hadn't suited her at all. Speaking of which...
He let Gil bluster as he considered how best to outfit her for her official coming out. Making Gilgamesh Wulfenbach look good would be difficult, but Tarvek had always enjoyed a challenge.