How much the Solidor is one to act, one to form and pace and take care with each word, though indeed this acting is far closer to the truth than he would care to admit. That Ajora does not defend or address his words, take to a casual threat lined with such softness...? It only solidifies within that he cannot allow this farce to continue.

Vayne turns to leave, a slight shake of his head causing the tangle of blackened hair, softened by their exposure to the heat and sun, sapping from the strands moisture that made it curl so, a hand raising slow to acknowledge the Priest he leaves behind. "A plebeian would enforce the shibboleth." He cares little if he shows his back to the possessed youth and the power embroiling within him. Let her strike, the man is sure she will not lift a finger.