The strike of a match jolts a startled heart from what facade one could call slumber, a staggered inhale greeting the candlelit room and instinctively you tug on your hands, only to find them bound behind your chair — the metal of cold and tightened cuffs clinking softly to a dazed mind.

"Ah- there she is~" a voice that tried to sound amused chimed in a gentle mockery and your gaze lifts to the male who lit some candles with a cared hand. Those gray irises shift, matches waved until the flames snuffed out.

Your breathing picked up behind a cloth, eyes darting to the room you'd found yourself in. Dim yet lavish.

A click made you stiffen, gaze snapping back to the gun he calmly placed upon the table, his expression unamused. "Eyes here, little love." He snaps in a tone one wouldn't call anger. He then tilts his head, watching your eyes trail to the filled plates of dinner before you both.

Your nose crinkled and he chuckled. "What, not a fan? How bout I call you collateral instead? I know you're scared, but come day's end it's your own father's fault you're here. I don't tend to be thankful when I'm stolen from. Alas, we don't have time for nonsense. How's your head, ma cheriè? I told them to be careful..." he sighs, sitting across from you — one hand near the glinted gun. "Relax. I'm not one for bloodshed during dinner~" he teases. "However...if your father takes too long paying me back...I can't say you'll come out completely unscathed."