She observed his reaction to her words with a slight squint, a fleeting smile never departing from her face, even as Damien's face once again drew closer than what was perhaps socially acceptable. Yet, an aura of preternatural calm and feminine confidence seemed to exude from her, further amplified by her disguise as Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war. This lent her an air as if the entire universe revolved around her. Sparks of mischievous mischief glistened in Fiorella's steel-blue eyes, visible through the ornate gold mask adorned with black feathers that blended with her own mane of glossy black hair, all while she keenly observed his inner turmoil.
The silence between them did not appear to discomfort or awkwardly engage her - and even if it did, she displayed no signs of it. Yet, it was more than probable that she embodied the type of person more inclined to listen and observe than to dominate a conversation. When he subtly indicated his desire to relocate, she regarded him thoughtfully for several protracted seconds before gracefully disengaging herself from the wall she had been leaning against with her bare back, and followed his lead.
As they neared the exit of the common room, Fiorella did not hesitate to retrieve another ornate crystal glass, this one containing a red semi-dry wine aged for several years prior to the Nomad War.
The key that had been provided by the host for access to the master bedroom came in handy at this point. And at the height of things, it felt like he could implicitly understand what she wanted, with a sort of clarity that couldn't have simply been accounted for by his sharp intuition alone. The reasons didn't matter, at least not for the next few hours.
Perhaps unfortunately, it wouldn't be long before he was woken by the sensation of his partner slipping away, followed by the sensation of weight shifting on the bed. She had pushed herself up to a seated position at its edge, and from where he was laying, dim light from the windows painted elaborate patterns across her exposed back. Instinctively, he reached out with his index finger and drew shapes across her skin at first, followed by his name in a variety of stylized fashions. This announced he was awake, or rather that she had woken him by electing to get up so soon, three hours into the new day to be precise. "You barely sleep." He almost sounded disappointed at the prospect of her electing to leave so soon. But if she was, then it was likely for a good reason. There was only so much time they could waste pretending to be people they weren't before feeling compelled to return to themselves.
"Stay a while longer." It was a request, one she didn't have to indulge given the circumstances and the potential limits of what their relationship ought to be. There was a lot of consideration that was perhaps overdue in that regard.
She emitted a soft, amused chuckle in response to his words, pivoting gracefully within the subdued ambiance of the room. Though her eyes remained veiled by the shadows, there existed an uncanny luminosity about them — a subtle, yet undeniable presence. It was as if some enigmatic mythical entity observed him from the darkness.
"I require far less sleep than usual, Damien."
Her laughter, muted and refined, accompanied her as she draped herself in a crimson silk robe. Fastidious in her movements, she meticulously cinched the garment at her waist. There was no trace of fatigue etched upon her face - instead, a delicate amusement lingered. Her makeup had been meticulously removed prior to retiring for the night, revealing a visage that seemed less inscrutable and perilous without the usual accentuation of her eyes.
"After all, this corresponds with my customary awakening hour."
With those words, she gracefully emerged from the bed, sweeping her hair away from her face. Her gaze roved over their disarrayed attire scattered throughout the room. She then ventured into the bathroom, her demeanor retaining a faint air of amusement. Inside, she deftly attended to her hair, brushed her teeth with a disposable toothbrush, applied a light makeup to turn her blue gaze sharper yet again, and donned a casual ensemble - a dark, cropped top paired with women's shorts.
"You do not need to get up with me, Damien, there is no point in waking up sooner than necessary."
She addressed her companion as she surprisingly swiftly returned from the bathroom, her long fingers elegantly weaving her black hair into a more pragmatic ponytail.
There was no protest to her methodical motions around the room, Damien only opted to speak once she'd come back out in a freshened up state. "I just don't want to be alone here." It was a statement with a surprising amount of vulnerability behind it. But it would only take her a few moments to think over why that might be, this place likely reminded him of a life he was utterly confined by, and being here did nothing except remind him of it. Her presence was an anchor to keep his mind from wandering to places that weren't pleasant to revisit. Something from the present to remind him that it was over.
Even in the dim light she could see the dimly illuminated outline of his hand. In its outstretched manner, it was a silent request that she join him.
Her posture remained regal, her shoulders squared with an air of pride, haughtiness, and an inherent, superior elegance. This aura in her presence was unaffected by the relatively unassuming attire she donned, and a glimmer danced in her steel-blue eyes in response to his words. She appeared to be meticulously considering her options, her gaze fixed on his extended hand.
The enigmatic quality of her expression offered no hints as to her forthcoming actions. Just as she guarded her thoughts from prying eyes, she refrained from allowing her inner musings to rise to the surface. At this juncture, it was nearly equally plausible for her to respond with a disparaging remark to stroke her own ego and sense of superiority, to rely solely on her high-class, yet traditional upbringing to smoothen an ongoing predicament out, or on those rare instances as an Outcast, to bestow a seemingly compassionate gesture upon someone not native to Malta.
A deliberate, drawn-out blink signified the culmination of her contemplation, and she placed her hand within his awaiting palm while taking her seat at the edge of the bed.
"I had originally contemplated gracing the local concert wing with my hands."
No further elaboration accompanied her statement. Life, as it often unfolds, likely held elements of truth in each facet of her decision.
A light squeeze was provided on contact, as if out of gratitude for accepting his invitation. "But you changed your mind." A statement made with a similar lack of elaboration and context to that of his counterpart. The lingering silence thereafter was a sign that he was thinking, at least it seemed like he was, it was possible he was just running on idle and passing the time.
"How are you feeling? Our last trip wasn't so pleasant for you." He could recall it all in perfect sequence, as clear and pristine has living through the tableau of moments for the first time, though confined to recollection. "You pride yourself on being an unreadable mystery, but every so often there's something that peers out from behind that curtain of obscurity. It's when you're the most pleasant to be around, and you use it strategically - never too much, never too little. Enough to garner continued interest." While this latter statement bore no question, she was being queried with some subtlety as to whether that was what she sought from him by committing to this.
He tilted his head soon after, changing the way the dim light fell clumsily down across his face, resembling a shift in tone. It brought added emphasis to his hair, the top half of which was somewhat messy, particularly the portion towards the back of his head. Her hands had been there not so long ago, and the tender curvature of her fingers and their grip was visible in how it had settled in the present. Besides this however, he moved very little, if at all.
"I generally prefer to keep my grievances to myself, yet since you have asked - I must confess to a mild vertigo, courtesy of the distinct rotation, gravitational force, and the drier atmosphere of this world. Although, it is no longer as disorienting as it was during our initial visit to Houston."
Similar to her experiences on Planet Houston, the sensations aroused by this gathering compelled her to moisten her throat frequently with sips of wine or refreshing glacier water. To counter the arid conditions so distant from Malta, she had thoughtfully applied a delicate layer of moisturizer to her sun-kissed skin.
Despite these minor inconveniences, her demeanor gave no hint of discomfort or distress. Quite the opposite, her voice carried an air of serenity and contentment.
"What never ceases to astound me about the Sirians is their unyielding urge to meticulously delineate and encapsulate every facet of existence, often in the most expedient manner. What is the rush?"
She emitted a subdued chuckle, her voice carrying a deeper tone. Simultaneously, she removed her hand from his, skillfully resuming the task of braiding her raven-black hair. Although she remained seated at the edge of the bed, she evinced no inclination to rise.
"I have no intention of quantifying my intimate sentiments with the crude and imprecise tool of mere words."
Damien pushed himself up into a seated position and watched keenly as she braided her hair, as if studying how it was done and considering if there were more effective methods. "It's simple. You have more time, so you can afford to take your time with things. But that by itself isn't a guarantee the time that we own for ourselves can't be cut short. Sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose. And while I personally believe in action over talk, too much hesitation, whether deliberate or otherwise can cause a moment to pass. Once it's gone - that's it." He seemed to think it was less to do with expedience and more about reveling in your time. Though he did concede that lifespans were a factor behind perception, pointing out that those with more time were perhaps more likely to take things for granted.
"If anything I feel like life only becomes more significant the shorter it is. Your every decision, every meal, every sound or colour that you'll see or hear means more. And it's precisely because it'll all end sooner rather than later." It wasn't initially his intention to turn this into a philosophical conversation, but she'd already taken it there and he couldn't help but follow. "If your life ended now, wouldn't you be so much more engrossed in everything you were doing?" He was genuinely curious what her response might be, but did fully expect for her to stay the course she usually did and discard this as being too foreign to comprehend. But that was itself his point - the lack of an ability to separate from oneself and understand such a key difference.
She observed him intently, her fingers deftly completing her braid with an effortless, practiced touch. Once he finished speaking, she extended her right hand towards him, using her index finger to gently lift his chin until their eyes met directly.
"From past experiences, I believe I am the one who savors every bite, hue, melody, sensation, and vista between the two of us the most."
Drawing her body nearer to his, she maintained her unwavering gaze. A mischievous grin graced her lips, and her movements exuded an exquisite laziness, reminiscent of a feline stretching languorously upon waking.
"I even found delight in the plainest, unseasoned meal back on Houston, savoring each bite."
She chuckled once more, her voice deep and melodic with amusement. Extending her right leg, she placed it slowly on the bed's mattress and twisted her torso further in his direction.
"I relish every step of my journey, regardless of whether it leads me to my destination or not. Too many expectations can breed disappointment and regret."
"And I refuse to regret, even my life is too brief for such sentiments. How about you, Damien?"
"I regret nothing." It was answer that she likely expected, and it was delivered with absolute certainty and no hesitation. People had died to buy him his present "freedom" and he would kill countless more to keep it that way. None of that bothered him, and she had already expressed admiration for his determined nature in the past, going so far as to state that it was mutual.
It didn't seem like he had blinked since her hand had met his chin. "How about you refuse to hesitate too?" It was a cheeky invitation and that much was obvious, but it did tie in seamlessly to the choice of conversation they were engaged in. As if anticipating that she might shift further, his hand had already taken up residence on her hip for support, or perhaps encouragement.
He had his questions but they could take a backseat for the moment. She could see that it was there, and maybe even sense it, so in some way the request for clarity and reason for her sudden shift in behavior had been made wordlessly.
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