"Not all of them are ugly or old, dolcezza. Why, I believe a good many of your sort end up there. Young, nubile, rears ripe for pinching beneath those robes," he offered her a languid smirk and set his cup down.
He pushed himself away from the table, stood. “Believe I’ve had my fill for now.”
If she could roll her eyes a little more, she would. Ah, that ego of his. Never knew an end to it, or when to be pushed aside. All in the world was good for his eyes, and nothing else mattered but his wine and a pair of tits to grab.
Fiora felt a little envious about that way of living. But she wouldn’t tell. To be able to live without a care in the world, what a wonderful thing.
She frowned after he pushed his plate and stood. “Already? And here I got you so much food thinking you would want a feast!” she sighed, shrugging. “You’ll drink the wine at least, won’t you?”.
"Of course, Fiora. I said I’d had my fill. I did not say that I planned on leaving. Unless, of course, that’s what you would rather me do?"
He picked the cup back up, finished what was left in it, and went for the bottle himself.