#same rhys

i knew from my first game that if fiona refuses vallory’s deal twice while she’s stabbing vaughn, rhys and sasha will jump in to take the deal and stop her instead

“Oh no, oh no no no way--” Rhys had his coat bunched up in his fists, alreay halfway out of his chair when he felt a sharp tug on his wrist cuff. Rhys let out a tense sigh, turning around and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, sending a sour look at the man who was supposed to be his blind date. 

Honestly, now that he had seen who he’d been set up with, he was kind of wishing he’d be struck blind so he didn’t have to see the stupid, surprised look on Vasquez’s face. 

“Rhys--”

“No, no way, this is not gonna happen,” Rhys jerked his cuff out of Vasquez’s grip, fixing the other man with a scowl, “this is the last time I take Yvette’s advice....blind date my ass...”

“Rhys, be reasonable,” Vasquez sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he looked from Rhys to the fancy table that had been laid out for them. Little candles set on a decorative slate holder, rose petals scattered over a pristine white tablecloth, fluted glasses already filled with a bubbly pink champagne. It certainly looked very inviting and romantic--much more so than his solitary chair and tiny table at home. Sure, he had some pasta carbonara leftover from a couple nights previously when he’d wanted to flex his cookings skills, but the promise of a fancy meal was laid out right in front of him, and he didn’t exactly want to give that all up. 

“We’re already here, everything’s already set up for us, can’t we just....make the best of the evening?”

Rhys opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off by a loud gurgle coming from his stomach. He pressed his lips shut in a pout, hand chastising his noisy gut. He couldn’t help himself, he’d been saving himself for this dinner all day, planning to chow down on some fancy steak and classy desserts, and his growling appetite was almost enough to suppress his distaste of Vasquez. However, he was still debating leaving up until the point where the confused waiter approached their table, a basket of steaming, freshly baked bread in hand. 

“Okay....fine...” Rhys grumbled as he re-folded his jacket over the back of the chair, taking his seat and scooting forward. “But I’m definitely not staying because of you. Got that?” 

“Whatever you say, Rhys,” Vasquez took the seat across from the young man, folding his hands on the tabletop, that gaudy golden pinkie reflecting the candlelight, “but I’ll have you know, I’m 0-7 when it comes to having sex on the firs--”

A well-aimed dinner roll bounced off his forehead, tumbling down onto the tablecloth in a shower of crumbs. 

Rhys: