“Oh, that’s always fun, to confuse people like that. You’ve no idea what I mean, do you? I know what /kind/ of person you are, not who you are, vexatious Vincent.” Summer grinned, but then he lit up without so much as a ‘by your leave’, never mind looking for an ashtray, and her expression went flat. “You don’t want to do that here,” she said, pushing distaste/disgust/faint shame at him. Her gaze flicked sideways to the lighter, and she reached out and picked it up, running a thumb over the design.Vex raised an eyebrow at the odd woman, who was proving to be more and more confusing by the moment. Shaking his head a little, he commented, “You’re off your bloody rocker, aren’t you?” A sudden wave of disgust filled her presence as he hit the cigarette, which made him frown; he really hated it when people did that, but he supposed he couldn’t blame. Usually, he would have asked, but he’d gotten so comfortable that he hadn’t thought to do so. Snuffing it out in the empty coffee cup, he tucked it away and made a mental note to rinse it out for her before he gaze the mug back. “My apologizes, Miss Summer,” he said with an evenly flat tone, daring her to be sharp about it.
Summer sat back, startled. “What /are/ you?” Had he actually resisted her power? It /looked/ like it, though he’d put the cigarette out, as well. But still, the reaction was off — it should have been him not wanting the cigarette; instead he’d responded as if to /her/ dislike.