[Yes. Yes! The sharp swell of relief he feels is nearly overpowering. He's not alone, he's not directionless. If Annie is resentful of being purposeless, Miles is terrified of it. Nothing haunts his nightmares so much as being useless and forgettable. Annie might think this is a contingent acceptance, with something held in reservation, but Miles has had wholehearted acceptance vanishingly rarely in his life. Give him one centimeter and he'll go a kilometer. He's only ever had life hand him centimeters to work with, and counts them preciously.
Of course, he knows the reason his bribe that wasn't a bribe had worked is because it is what she wants. He'd never have ventured it if he wasn't reasonably certain that it was. Being proven right in his skill at reading people is, as always, a thrill for him. He hasn't lost his touch, and this confirms it.
He restrains his sense of victory to a look of intent fervor, his eyes narrowly focused on her, impressing his earnestness.] I won't let you down, [he says with the tone of a vow.] I'm good at this, Annie, I promise you. I commanded a fleet of mercenaries for thirteen years, [he says wildly, forgetting any misguided attempt at secrecy,] surely I can handle even this.
You won't regret this chance.
[Miles has no realistic way of promising that, none at all, but he doesn't care. He's promised it before and no matter how often he's been foresworn, it won't stop him from promising it again. All of his manipulation is backed by a fiercely altruistic desire to save others, to right wrongs. To be, as his mother had put it, a knight-errant. But a knight must be beholden to someone, and in the absence of absolutely anyone else, he is frantically relieved to have a new group to adopt to be beholden to. He will prove himself worthy. There has never been another option; Miles has never made contingency plans for failure.]
no subject
Of course, he knows the reason his bribe that wasn't a bribe had worked is because it is what she wants. He'd never have ventured it if he wasn't reasonably certain that it was. Being proven right in his skill at reading people is, as always, a thrill for him. He hasn't lost his touch, and this confirms it.
He restrains his sense of victory to a look of intent fervor, his eyes narrowly focused on her, impressing his earnestness.] I won't let you down, [he says with the tone of a vow.] I'm good at this, Annie, I promise you. I commanded a fleet of mercenaries for thirteen years, [he says wildly, forgetting any misguided attempt at secrecy,] surely I can handle even this.
You won't regret this chance.
[Miles has no realistic way of promising that, none at all, but he doesn't care. He's promised it before and no matter how often he's been foresworn, it won't stop him from promising it again. All of his manipulation is backed by a fiercely altruistic desire to save others, to right wrongs. To be, as his mother had put it, a knight-errant. But a knight must be beholden to someone, and in the absence of absolutely anyone else, he is frantically relieved to have a new group to adopt to be beholden to. He will prove himself worthy. There has never been another option; Miles has never made contingency plans for failure.]