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Payne. "Of course you're Payne," the words fall as a mutter and I pray you don't hear me. The sudden realization sends another chill down my spine and I'm half tempted to say 'fuck it' and find something else to do tonight. I can't. There's a stubbornness that won't break and instead I try and force myself to meet your eyes again. I won't be intimated by a name when I saw you dancing and singing moments ago. "Who needs to praise you when you've got that covered yourself? You've got the vainess in you, are you related to Lucifer? He's just as prideful." I avoid giving you my name, defending myself with half-hearted taunting of my own.