He ought to notice her ears. Evidence of mixed parentage is all over the Imperium, a grim reminder of the legacy of slavery, the products of unequal social relations more often than cross-cultural romance-proper. Yet if he has noticed, he hasn't mentioned them. Perhaps his recognition is unconscious, and his social presumption a function of the ease he feels dealing with an inferior. Maybe she's just too pretty for him to care. Maybe he's just drunk enough not to notice.

Either way, he doesn't retreat. Vergil hasn't gotten this far in life through meekness.

"A slight thing like you? I doubt it'll cause me pain. Tread without fear."

His eyes say 'trust me', though his smile makes it hard to say precisely what she should trust him to do.

"If you stumble, I promise to catch you."