home is where the sleep is

Why does she always gotta take things the wrong way? His own temper rises as Vesper lashes out and staggers off the bed. He openly scowls at her, unsure where he wants this to go, how he wants to respond. How could she not understand what he meant? If she continued to be a slave, they would have to sneak around being friends. They'd never be allowed to get close unless he stand up to the Warlord himself. And if that went badly, it would mean she stays a slave and he could be removed from Armada. Was she worth it?

Fighting the war in his head, he huffs and rises to follow her. "Don't walk outta 'ere actin' like ya think I don' care," he snaps, teeth flashing in the dim light. Exhaustion still riddles his body, tiredness and sore muscles leave him lagging. Not as quick as he would normally react, but he's trying.

"Yer keep deflectin' like that like it's gonna solve all yer problems." The growl to his voice deepens his words, echoing forth a commanding presence throughout his den. "We are friends, Vesper, we both know that, an' ya know what I mean." He rumbles, frustrated as he closes the distance between them. Hovering close to her, Wilder finds it hard to stay mad, but he's not backing down this time. She's the one storming in here being all mad for silly reasons anyway.

"If ya weren't a slave, I wouldn' need to run from ya. I, we, uh we coul' be somethin' more than, erm friends," Wilder stumbles over his words, feeling his throat tighten and dry up. "I mean, if that's somethin' ya'd wan', I ain' the pushy type," he deflects too, feeling rather embarrassed suddenly and as if he's far too close to her. "But go, run away. It's yer turn now, ain't it?"