That last line made him smirk, and his mouth simply gave voice for what immediately came to mind upon hearing the words. "Honestly I find it hard to discern what you're referring to when you talk about mindless, soulless automatons. That could easily apply to industrial machinery or your peers. A lot in common, noisy, rigid, and prone to breaking down so badly the unit has to be returned to the manufacturer." That was quite a staggering criticism of the general attitudes he'd observed from the rest of her "people", if they could even be called that much.
"You treat your slaves nicely in the hopes that they won't one day wake up and realize that they were slaves all this time. That act is going to end one day. The fact is that your society refuses to make people like them equals and integrate them in any serious capacity. And for that, they'll always resent you. All of you." This was less of a sarcastic jab about her people and another serious warning like the one from before, since she seemed so awfully self assured that her polite and considerate nature would deter any and all possible dissent. That was hardly how it worked in reality, it was only ever the perception that mattered and not the facts. That could always be changed to serve a certain end.
She hastily covered her mouth with her left hand to keep from bursting out laughing at him, her melodious, deeper voice booming. It was a sincere laugh, there was no hint of hiding insecurity or masking ulterior motives to distract.
"You really hate us, Mister Doe."
She added briefly while keeping her left hand in front of her mouth and coughing softly.
"I have to admit - that laugh caught me off guard."
She cleared her throat a few more times into her left palm before calming herself down and tapping her left hand lightly against her heart.
"I guess it goes from here, as if from the heart, does it not?"
She chuckled lightly and rolled over onto her back for another brief chuckle. She took her gaze away from her companion's face for a moment and took a cursory glance at the cool Houston night outside the window. She became serious again.
"But I see what you mean by all that - not every clan has a philosophy like mine. Elsewhere it can simmer decently under the surface, perhaps like around here. I do not even have to concentrate or meditate on it too much to feel all the hundreds or thousands of minds wallowing in despair, depression, resignation, or unrelieved, unrequited anger."
In a simple motion using one of his hands, he raised his half of the covers up and over his shoulder, having it tucked under his chin as he tried to keep the draft out which was making the idea of sleeping a little uncomfortable. He was used to the cold but still had no affection for it creeping in when not welcome. "We're being oddly philosophical before sleeping, not sure that isn't going to result in fever dreams of some variety." He laughed softly after having made the joke and and turned onto his side to see how much of the window he'd be able to peer through despite being on the other end of the bed from it.
He was almost certain she wasn't going to enjoy breakfast any more than she enjoyed the small snack they had on the way over here, so he didn't bother asking what she might want to have come morning and thought of something else instead. "This place really is just a monument to wasted potential. You should have seen it before the Dallas incident." This was something he'd mentioned before, but he couldn't help but bring it up again. Liberty was full of these melancholic nuances, things that could have been monumental triumphs and achievements, instead laid low and allowed to sink into ruin by people who preferred convenience over commitment. That sort of spinelessness had always peeved him, but the reasons were a little different now.
"For nightmares, we would have to be in some completely different place - like an abandoned house or aboard the Ames Research Station in the Kepler system. There is no mystery hanging in the air here."
She smiled softly with her eyes closed and burrowed deeper into her blanket, probably because of the dropping night temperature.
"Buona notte, Signor Doe."
She said softly in her native tongue and began to doze off regularly, perhaps in a rehearsed effort to overcome her chronic insomnia, though it would take long hours of feigned sleep before her real sleep would come. Thus, she spends half the night only in a sort of half-sleep, still aware of what is going on around her in the apartment. The random noises the old hotel building makes do not give her a peaceful night, sometimes even forcing her to briefly open her eyes and check their darkened apartment in the middle of the deep night.
It is not until around three o'clock in the morning that she overcomes her insomnia, the inconveniences associated with her stay on Houston and frequent trips to the toilet thanks to all the water she has been drinking through the evening, and falls into true sleep.
After a brief and silent yawn, he replied to her wish of a good night. "See you when I see the sun." A slightly more creative way to effectively say the same thing.
True to his word, he kept his hands to himself and remained on his half of the bed, having no intention to spoil the pleasant tone this trip had taken on so far. And come the early hours of the morning rather than being woken by alarm, she'd wake to the smell of coffee. Apparently her companion had woken before she did and made the courteous decision to order them breakfast and wheeled the cart to her side of the bed. Once he'd poured the contents of the pot of coffee into two cups the room was suddenly overtaken by that familiar aroma of a smooth blend.
Rather than speak or try to wake her with something along the lines of a tap on the shoulder, he just waited near the window sipping from his cup. He had to assume the smell would be enough to slowly stir her awake gradually.
The smell of morning coffee made her roll onto her side towards the window and murmur sleepily. It was only after about thirteen minutes that she slowly opened her eyes and sat up on her half of the bed. She curled her gaze towards the window and began stretching her hamstrings in simple exercises after a not very restful night. The sleepy look remained on her face even as she stretched and exercised her cervical spine.
Once she felt sufficiently stretched and awake, only then did she begin to attend to her companion and gave him a slight smile.
"Buongiorno, Mister Doe."
She wished him good morning in her native tongue and walked silently and barefoot to the couch, picking up her folded clothes from it before heading to the bathroom to civilize herself. In the bathroom, Fiorella spent a long twenty minutes doing her personal hygiene, changing into a black tank top and blue jeans, putting on eyeliner and highlighting her long eyelashes and applying perfume. When she came out of the bathroom, she was still combing her long black hair with her long and thin fingers.
She did not put on her high boots and red leather jacket for now, she considered them as "outdoor clothes" apparently.
"What kind of coffee did you prepare for your breakfast?"
She smiled slightly and walked over to the window where she was still running her fingers through her long hair. She was very careful and methodical, any tangled ends of her hair she untangled patiently.
"Morning." He said casually, turning to face her and idly watching as she went about a morning routine that seemed somewhat regimented.
When she asked about the coffee he glanced down at his own cup and then answered plainly. "They call it a breakfast cappuccino, ordered it off their restaurant's menu along with today's breakfast special. Apparently you're some kind of celebrity, so they seemed eager to please. Breakfast itself is a local classic, scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages and buttered toast. They sent up a complimentary cinnamon bun as well."
Since she seemed mostly ready and willing to eat, he went ahead and laid everything out on the nearby table which was positioned against the view that the balcony offered.
A slight smile appeared on her face and she gave him a brief, squint-eyed look while still untangling and combing her hair with her fingers.
"Me as a celebrity? Well - possibly. Dawn Mayflower is an young and talented pianist from Manhattan."
She added softly and walked slowly to the breakfast table, allowing her companion the opportunity to make a gallant gesture - to seat her at the table like a lady.
"Cappuccino is very well known to me. It is best served with some light, sweet and fluffy pastries - in my opinion."
"The breakfast you suggested sounds a little better than the cheeseburger from yesterday, I will admit. Are eggs, cheese and sausage a classic breakfast in Liberty or is it a less common morning meal?"
She asked him the question with a curious expression as she prepared a napkin on her lap and waited for her breakfast companion to take his seat at the table.
The fact she really was posing as a celebrity musician put a slight grin on his face while breakfast was plated and utensils were arranged properly. "I must be a massive smooth talker to have wound up in the same bed as a celebrity while just being an associate in a pharmaceutical company." The comment was dripping with sarcasm because it was obvious why they were here and who they really were, but strangely that seemed to make it more surprising rather than less.
"Well, no. But it used to be. This is considered a luxurious breakfast here now, but a few decades ago this was a working class meal." It might have been strange to hear how a meal had been so commonplace and taken for granted but was now a luxury. It was the same for quite a few things in this House, and it was hardly shocking given Liberty's decadence.
With breakfast now properly served he gestured for his companion to join him at the table, waiting for her to do so before sitting down to dig in.
When she was seated at the table, she picked up her cutlery and slowly began her breakfast. She savored her meal carefully and ate at a very slow pace, one small bite every half minute and she did not hesitate to converse with her companion during her meal, though always with her mouth empty, never full.
"Apparently, reliable contacts in the pharmaceutical industry are necessary for the local celebrities, especially the younger ones like myself. Custom-made stimulant cocktails, cosmetic plastic surgery or gene therapy always come in handy, am I correct?"
Although there was a hint of irony in her voice, she kept her expression surprisingly serious as she practiced her acting skills.
"As a man in the pharmaceutical industry, what would you recommend - a new nose, lips or something else entirely? I am afraid that my music career awaits an improvement of my image."
She asked him a question in her typical, melodic speech as she feigned a different accent and sipped lightly from her cappuccino cup. She remembered to wipe her mouth of the milky foam with a napkin immediately afterwards.
