The jab goes right over Vanitas' head, and part of that is solely because Vanitas doesn't have the social vocabulary to know what it means. Unlike Dawn, the only one remotely like him, he doesn't have a wealth of memory to draw on. All Vanitas knows, he knows from watching others. Given his staunchly isolated existence, it means that no matter how verbose or haughty he might sound, simple things like this— like connection— fly right passed him.
His gaze doesn't leave Riku's face, unblinking. It doesn't matter to him what Riku has been through, that he's favoring one leg, that he looks tired and bruised and battered. It doesn't matter to him that he might have interrupted what Riku was probably hoping to be some quiet time, or that he's disappointed that Vanitas isn't Sora.
Vanitas, after all, had seen Sora before he went into the woods— so the only thing that's been occupying his thoughts is the mission Winters had convinced him he couldn't come on.
"What do you mean not up close?" There's something prickly in Vanitas' stance, like he's a dog at the very end of his leash. "She didn't talk to you?"
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His gaze doesn't leave Riku's face, unblinking. It doesn't matter to him what Riku has been through, that he's favoring one leg, that he looks tired and bruised and battered. It doesn't matter to him that he might have interrupted what Riku was probably hoping to be some quiet time, or that he's disappointed that Vanitas isn't Sora.
Vanitas, after all, had seen Sora before he went into the woods— so the only thing that's been occupying his thoughts is the mission Winters had convinced him he couldn't come on.
"What do you mean not up close?" There's something prickly in Vanitas' stance, like he's a dog at the very end of his leash. "She didn't talk to you?"