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Sarita seemed relieved. Her face visibly relaxed, suddenly filled with a genuine warmth that was likely entirely unexpected, something that outsiders rarely ever got to see exhibited by her kind. She reached up and pulled off her hairband, letting her sleek black ponytail tumble down just below her shoulders.
“What are you looking for, Cobra?” Her voice was gentle, but sounded tired. Her perfectly-honed Libertonian accent didn't depart her—she had practiced so well that her English was entirely natural at this point—but now, with her sudden shift in demeanor, she sounded... different, somehow. Like she had just come back from a hike and was physically exhausted, but mentally wired.
“I'm looking for guidance. From God, perhaps, or a flash of inspiration from chance. Some way I can put my skills to productive use, some faithful companions by my side to do the good work with. But what is it that motivates you? Fame, control, the simple desire to prove to yourself what you're capable of? You have a lot bundled up, it's so easy to see that, but beyond that you're so hard to read.”
Such directness was a major departure from her previous delicacy. She spoke sincerely, for whatever reason clearly concerned for his personal and emotional welfare.
For a split second his body betrayed discomfort with a twitch of the posture. She'd have noticed, he knew she would. But there was no way to hide the fact that he didn't enjoy his insecurities being spoken of so directly. It was also alarming to note that she saw it all even with his best efforts to conceal it. Had it started weighing on him so heavily? "I want.. to feel like a real person. I just don't know how to be like everyone else, and I do know that I can't help what I am. Place like this? You get what you pay for, and people paid a fortune to define everything about me before I even started walking. But I guess they didn't pay enough." There was a peculiarity to his tone when explaining this, like it was painful to admit. His last statement was especially self evident, but just in case it was lost in translation, Damien gestured at himself and where they were. No doubt meaning to imply that there was a great deal of irony on display.
"It drives me insane to think that your people are just given everything I wanted. You're accepted, no conditions, and no alterations. Hell, your families act like the birth of every child is a literal miracle!" Realising he just raised his voice and entirely broke composure, Damien raised a hand to apologetically excuse himself. He'd said enough, maybe even a little too much.
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The Maltese woman didn't react for a good few moments. Instead, Sarita took Cobra's words in, turning them over in her mind, a frown flitting over her face only to be replaced with a sympathetic look.
“And if you had the option to have all of this, to have everything our people have, even with its sacrifices, would that satisfy you now?” She clasped her hands behind her waist and started pacing a tight loop in front of him. “If someone today offered you the option to be fully accepted, loved, cherished just for being you and for being the able contributor you are, and you said yes, would you feel fulfilled? Or would it still not be enough, because it didn't come entirely from your own efforts?”
She craned her head down, looking at the floor as she walked, before fidgeting and turning back to look at her companion. It was obvious she understood the severity of Cobra's reaction, yet she clearly took 'dropping the act' very seriously. “I have a feeling that it still wouldn't be enough for you, somehow. You want what only others can give you, yet you've had so much decided for you that gifts inherently feel like a betrayal.”
For an uncomfortable span of time, he would just stare at Sarita, unable to really conjure up any words. There was a distinct problem that was causing his thought processes to run in circles. She was right, but he didn't want her to be. "To be accepted so completely would still mean something. It has to mean something." It clearly sounded like he was trying convince himself of this fact, it would be simpler if that were actually true. The only problem was that he knew it wasn't, he knew his nature too well, and to be freely accepted without any kind of process would feel wrong. This was what puzzled him though, how was acceptance supposed to be given then? If there were terms and conditions then what was the point? It wasn't acceptance if that were the case, just conditional tolerance.
He took several moments to collect himself and try to see this under the lens of sense, or at least some semblance of it. He was far too unsettled right now to do an effective job of it though, constantly evading eye contact and exhibiting body language which suggested he wanted to leave. "It would feel like pity, that's my problem, I don't want pity. I don't want to be accepted so completely just because I've never been entitled to it before. I want it to have value, but I don't know what that's supposed to feel like."
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Sarita nodded. “The value of acceptance is something you have to determine for yourself. For me, there are clear benchmarks—how well have my actions lived up to the standards handed down to me, have I acted in the way I wish all my brothers and sisters to act?—but for you, things are different. You are paving your own way.”
She gestured towards the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder as a long-time friend might and gently guiding him there. As they both sat, she continued to speak.
“You seek independence for your men and for yourself. Yet, to truly be independent is to bear the weight of the universe on your shoulders. Casting aside all other values leaves you adrift unless you can construct your own unshakable firmament to stand on.”
Her eyes portrayed her genuine sympathy, even sorrow as she tried to convey the gravitas of the concept to him.
“I don't envy anyone that task. True independence from all above and below you is to be left without support save what you can summon up within yourself. You must decide on your own whether that's truly what you want in this life, and find a way to avoid constantly questioning yourself about that choice.”
He laughed at the situation. This might have even seemed rude, but with a little observation and insight into his tone, it was clear that this was the laughter of someone thoroughly bewildered by their circumstances. When life was on the verge of breaking a person, you could either weep at the tragedy, or laugh at the irony. That said, even if he was doing the latter, it was laced with substantial bitterness. "Can't have this be simple, can we?" Damien mumbled out, catching his breath and putting an end to the laughter now.
Giving himself a few seconds to process, he would eventually just shake his head as if to silently suggest they move on to other topics of conversation. "If I'm being honest, I didn't figure your kind for the sort to see Sirians as friends, let alone a fairly recent adversary turned business partner." He wondered, if perhaps she was truly this deprived of friendly connection to just so plainly seek it out in him. And maybe, just maybe, in some small recess of himself, he felt a pang of guilt for the fact that she was making a horrible choice.
