Like a sponge, Siobhan absorbed Morreti's little spiel with an unflinching expression. Whether she'd bought into it or not was impossible to say.
"Gone and said 'all of you' jes' there," she observed. "Like you still don't think you're one of us, in the end."
Her voice was flat -- not accusatory, not inherently judgemental, just a statement of what she saw as fact. She forged on before he could interrupt.
"You got some way of speakin' on you, Damian, I'll give you that. Like you're tryna disarm me with words. Definitely a talker."
Siobhan folded her arms, her metal hand glinting as the artificial light caught it. Despite the prosthetic's age, it was obviously well-maintained. It was worn from use, but the cold steel still spoke of regular attention.
"Some part a' me would like to call you out on all that talkin'. Pretty words, pretty oration -- none of it counts for anythin' if'n we aren't makin' progress. Goin' forwards." There was an edge to her voice now. "I'll be the first ta admit that what I see here -- here in Ramsey an' elsewhere across fair Liberty -- is progress, yeah, but you still ain't answered my question. I ain't questionin' what you've done or even how you've done it -- 's obvious you kin talk if nothin' else -- but I still ain't seein' your motivation behind it all. You ain't no grassroots boy from Ouray, that's for sure, so I sure am strugglin' to see your payoff in gettin' involved in buildin' a better Liberty."
She hadn't directly accused him of anything, but the confrontational tone made it clear she wasn't satisfied. His accomplishments spoke for themselves, but something about him simply felt off. That wasn't to say that he intimidated her -- a cautious approach was not the same as an intimidated one. The Xenos knew that better than anyone; many a Libertonian captain had confused necessary caution with sheer intimidation in the past, mistaking the entry of their capital ship into the fray as an overwhelming advantage in morale and directed firepower, only to discover that a careful and precise wing of Rocs could leave them disabled and drifting until a relief force arrived.
No, Siobhan was certain that she wasn't intimidated. She was, however, very cautious, and still unsatisfied with Morreti's explanation thus far.
Looks could be deceiving, one might mistake Morreti for harmless or Siobhan for not observant, and they would be horribly wrong in both cases. He assured her of honesty, and she seemed the sort to expect promises to be upheld. Traditional, partially regimented by this lifestyle perhaps. There was no point hiding it from her, not if he wanted to cultivate trust and loyalty. "I wasn't always called Damian Morreti. I used to be Robert Hughes. Developed software and made a fortune from selling a proof of concept to Ageira. But at no point during my picture prefect life did I ever feel like I was making my own choices. It felt like I was being herded and controlled with what I naively assumed to be my wealth. I refused to be a pawn in a scheme so I left it all behind." This time he did genuinely take a breath before continuing, acutely aware that telling her the whole truth and nothing but the truth was a risk.
"The money, the things, the people who pretended to be my friends. None of it mattered because none of it was really mine. I was allowed to have it because I was shackled by the system, neutered into being compliant. The first real choice I ever did make in my life was to come here, to become one of you. We aren't cut from the same cloth, not anywhere close, but I'd like to believe we're fighting for the same thing. I want a life that feels like it's mine, in my own hands, no one else's and built off my own work." He was remarkably soft spoken as he divulged all of this to her, as if the weight of all of it forced humility. It was clear from the way he was speaking and acting that nobody else knew about his former life. His posture was tense and his eyes had been sharpened by a certain degree of anxiousness. It was invited she wasn't being fed a story or told what she wanted to hear.
"I don't expect that you'll like me very much knowing what you know now. I don't expect that you'll sympathize with my reasons for being here. But I do care, Siobhan. I wouldn't be risking my life the same as everyone else if I didn't. I'm not that man anymore, so I'm asking, please, see me as the man I chose to be. As Damian, one of you." A small part of him was incredibly frustrated that he'd revealed so much about himself, but at the same time he felt compelled to tell somebody. It was obvious that he couldn't keep up this charade of mystery anymore, he needed to rely on somebody. But it wasn't yet clear to him if he'd made the right choice of who that person would be.
Every word that came out of Morreti's mouth seemed to ratchet the growing tension a little higher, as if an invisible bowstring were being drawn back. Siobhan, throughout it all, again said nothing, seemingly content to observe with thin lips the soul-baring playing itself out before her.
It took a long while before she deigned to reply at all, punctuating the beginning of her response with a heavy sigh. All at once, the nascent aggression in her bearing deflated like a balloon, the ever-present aura of tiredness returning to her features as the need for adrenaline drained away.
"Hellfire," she swore, her prosthetic hand coming up to rub her temples. The sudden burst of contrition and obvious, outright nervousness had taken her off-guard, and the rush of satisfaction she'd expected from excavating some vital details into this mysterious man's past hadn't materialised at all. Instead, she just felt relieved.
"You had me worried, Damian, you son of a bitch." She seemed almost annoyed by what she seemed to see as an anti-climax; the tremendous tension on his part seemed to have been unwarranted. "Jes' because you were rich, or somethin'?" Her confusion at his secrecy was evident, her hair cascading around as she shook her head in disbelief.
"You got as good a reason as any ta be here, even if'n some people migh' find it-- well, extreme. Stracke himself's a university graduate -- you ain't the first to come over from some kinda privileged-like background or somethin'. Realisin' that the kinda measures an' ideals we believe in is th' kind of thing that goes past class or privilege or anythin' else -- you either get it or you don't."
His fears appeared to be more and more unfounded with each passing second -- if anything, the complete honesty on his part seemed to have chiselled through her initial distrust more effectively than anything else could have. While she appeared to have softened significantly, though, there was still a note of wariness to her that never quite seemed to go away.
"Lyin', though, that ain't gonna get you to the finish line. It kin get you good and far, yeah, but at some point you're gonna get tangled in your own web. I'm a firm believer in the power a' truth, myself. Don't like bein' sold things on false pretences; God knows I've had enough of that. We all have. Could call me the kind of person t' stab you in th' front if you want, but never the back."
Siobhan favoured him with a well-practised smile; the kind that didn't quite bring any warmth to her eyes. It wasn't his fault -- genuine joy was something in short supply for a Xeno.
"Figure from th' fact I ain't never heard of any Robert Hughes before that you ain't exactly made this information widely known or anythin' either, have you?"
He seemed surprised at her absolute lack of any grievances with his former life. He had always assumed that the Xenos nurtured a generous degree of hatred for the wealthy, on account of how such wealth was commonly earned, which was rampant exploitation. Instead, it was like he'd riled her up for nothing. This produced a very odd sensation, it wasn't happiness, and it was too significant to just be relief. It felt liberating for somebody to finally know. "I was afraid I'd sour your impression of me before I got to know you." Admitting the cause behind the exaggeration of his concerns betrayed another fact. It implied that he had a degree of interest in her, it was perhaps clear by now given his opening remarks about her eyes, but it wasn't clear why he gave it such a level of significance.
"No, I haven't told anybody else. You're the first person to hear any of this. I just never wanted to be judged on anything other than my performance and the choices I make. In my experience, the kind of lifestyle I enjoyed is usually cause for contempt if not hate from the members of our movement." At least for now he appeared to be mistaken, and that combined with any lack of disapproval from her prompted him to relax again. Posture loosening and face somewhat lightened up from relief. At the moment, she did truly know more about him than anyone else did.
"I've considered telling people before, but I don't see much of a point. This is who I am now, I've made my choices, that's what matters to me going forward. But at the same time, you're right. Keeping it from people won't do me any favors." To his credit, he'd never broken eye contact yet, but that was likely owed to his repeatedly stated fascination with her own. The brief sight of her metal arm didn't seem to do much in the way of distracting him with idle curiosity either. As he grew quiet again, it seemed as if he remembered something that he'd forgotten about thanks to the conversation.
Siobhan rolled her shoulders, one after the other. It felt strange to have inadvertently taken the upper hand from Morreti in his own office, but 'strange' was still a far cry from 'unpleasant'. It was as if he'd come to meet her rather than the other way around.
"You're gonna have to tell 'em eventually, Damian," she said, aware she was steering the man towards something he'd long since conditioned himself to avoid. "Nobody with any sense at all's gonna hold your past against you. Fuck's sake, you don't gotta be born int' rags on Ouray to be a Xeno. It ain't about who you were, it's about who you are now -- an' what you do ta back that up."
Idly, the brunette rubbed at her chin with metal fingers, looking briefly pensive. Something seemed to have occurred to her; a light note of concern that furrowed her brow just a little.
"Unless you'd rather some enterprisin' Hacker or canny Ageira exec goes public wi' it down the line," she mused, eyeing Morreti's reaction with care. "How thoroughly you reckon you covered your tracks, anyway?"
Before he could interject, she gave a quick shake of her head, making it clear the question was rhetorical.
"Doesn't even matter if'n you think it's bulletproof -- there's always someone better. That's somethin' I've had ta learn the hard way." A sharp bark of laughter. "Got sent scurryin' back to Ouray wi' a ship leakin' coolant more'n enough times before that sunk in. No, Damian -- you gotta tell 'em, before someone else goes an' tells 'em for you. You want people to put faith in you, you gotta put your faith in them. Otherwise--"
Siobhan broke away from him then, taking a single step backwards and turning to indicate the cityscape below once more. The hive of activity there hadn't died down even a decibel, the constant roar and hum of the Fort's beating heart ensuring there was never a moment of silence within the cavernous planetoid.
"--everythin' you've built, it's all propped up on one fragile little secret -- an' let me tell you, Damian, ain't neither of us wants it to collapse. Not in a million fuckin' years."
Her jaw worked up and down briefly, setting itself as she apparently came to some sort of internal decision. She turned to face him again, the grey in her eyes more alive than ever.
"I'll give you my backin', of course. You were level with me, an I'll be level with you. Tell Stracke an' the other luminaries as well -- they'll probably be pissed off you didn't tell 'em sooner, but nobody kin fault honesty where it's deserved. Secure their support as well, then you kin clear th' air with th' rank an' file. That's what I'd do."
The mention of an enterprising Hacker or executive seemed to resonate with him, bringing forth a degree of distaste and hatred from just hearing their names. Needless to say his eventual response to all that wisdom was at first sidetracked for a short while. "Sides of a coin, those two. Simultaneously gifted with smarts and stupidity. One of them too blinded by the pursuit of pleasure for their fragile vanity through vice and the other hellbent on controlling the game and minting credits. Even if it means stealing credit from somebody else. No, neither of them deserve the honor of being able to out me like that." Morreti evidently wasn't the sort to take his authority very seriously. He always assumed the person he was talking to knew something that he didn't. And in this case, that was doing him a favor and offering him a valid solution, to what might otherwise become a flash point where there needn't be one.
"I'll put out a notice asking for all the Luminaries of our Alliance to convene here, once they're all gathered in one place then I'll tell them what I told you. I've not had the luxury of a consistent or reliable right hand since I assumed this post, I'm feeling that it may as well be you who takes on that role. If the way this meeting's gone is any indicator of the fact that I can trust you." While Morreti could either watch out for himself or watch out for the Alliance, he couldn't do both. And at some point, there would be a dilemma where one would have to take priority over the other. A situation which could very much be avoided if somebody else could watch out for him, freeing him up to focus on the mission.
"Just one thing, before I forget again." Quite swiftly, Morreti retreated from her side and paced directly towards a large armory which sat behind his fairly industrial desk. He presented a small console mounted on the exterior shutters with the imprint of his right hand, disengaging all the locks through a confirmation of identity. The interior revealed a diverse and expansive collection of firearms. But below the main racks of weapons sat two, pristine and handcrafted helmets. The one sporting his own markings, being the Cobra, was left behind. Instead he retrieved the second, the appearance of which was obscured partially by his hands, even as he turned around to bring it towards Siobhan. Once directly in front of her again, he presented her with the item, which made most of its design apparent.
Well-crafted wasn't the word, an enormous investment of time for one person would go into the creation of something like this. A mixture of absolute black, shades of brown and yellow were distributed across the shell of the helmet, like the scales of a grand and wise serpent. Despite its fairly rugged and angular appearance, the interior seemed to bear a layer of memory foam to accommodate Siobhan's head perfectly even if an exact set of measurements were not available to its maker at the time of producing it. The visor which was angled upward with two thick black and non-reflective portions of reinforced glass were fashioned to seem like eyes. But the most striking feature was just above it, in the middle of where Siobhan's eyes would be located, as if it were a third eye. Resting there was a deliberately cut diamond, though somewhat humble in its size, it did little to detract from how striking the polished gem was. Given the financial situation of the movement, the materials were most likely procured, with the stone stolen from a Rogue convoy inbound from Hudson. Wherein diamond business with the Unioners was typically conducted.
Given the circumstances of their meeting, it seemed like both a gift and a token of gratitude. But in either case, a great deal of thought and attention to detail went into its creation. "When I heard you were still with us, I assumed you'd eventually be here now. I figured you deserved something that was more personal, considering the quartermaster will only provide you with the standard-issue suit and uniform. I made this for you." From this distance and angle, Siobhan would only just barely be able to make out the finer details of the helmet. Things such as her name, rank and call sign etched neatly and evenly into a part of the cheek. Morreti looked on intently, quietly hoping she would both accept the token and try it on, just so that he knew there were no defects that he'd overlooked.
Siobhan gave a quick nod of approval, appreciative of the fact that she'd been able to steer him in the right direction -- or so she thought, anyway. She herself had always valued honesty and integrity, and while deceit and lies were a weapon one could often employ against enemies, they had no place in the internal workings of the Xenos themselves.
"I'd be happy ta keep you on th' right path," she replied smoothly, another smile twitching its way to life on her features. This one was more genuine than its predecessors. "Leadin' a movement like this ain't somethin' that's easy ta do on your own. Woulda said it were next to impossible for me. Pretty certain you got more of a gift fer it than I do, but e'en so -- wise ta put trust in others sometimes. Hate ta sound cliché, but we really are all in this together, one way or another."
She grimaced. Poetic speaking was not really her forté. Thankfully, Morreti interrupted her by mention of one more thing, her gaze following him as he moved through the complicated process of retrieving exactly whatever it might be from his apparently vast collection of guns. When the helmet itself came into view, she reached out with both hands to receive it, gripping it underneath the rim and holding it up for a closer inspection.
Gaudy, she thought. The more she looked at it, the more she saw; the black, white, and gold pattern of her callsign's namesake all across the exterior; the mouldable foam on the interior that aimed to assure exacting comfort in all but the longest of flights; and the capstone of the whole affair, the bona-fide diamond inset just above the tinted visor.
It was a fine helmet, but the sheer quality and obvious price tag in both efforts and material attached to it didn't sit well with her. Still, there was a grey area in-between lying and simply telling less of the truth -- the foundation of all diplomacy, in her experience.
"Can't say I'm not appreciative of th' thought and time you musta put into this," she said slowly, flipping the helmet over in her hands, catching sight of more of the finer details. She could sense he was looking at her with undisguised anticipation, expecting more than just a simple platitude and a setting-aside of his gift to her.
Siobhan raised the helmet and carefully put it on, the memory foam doing what it had been designed to do and adhering itself to the outline of her head, cushioning her from the hardened carapace of the helmet itself. With the foam's help, it fit her relatively well; she flipped the visor down as well to complete the effect.
Turning her head slightly, she caught sight of herself in the window's reflection -- despite her misgivings about how ostentatious the piece really was, she had to admit there was a certain effect to it. Perhaps this wasn't something she'd make a habit of flaunting in front of her brothers and sisters in arms, but such a striking accessory would certainly look fearsome on a most-wanted bulletin, or when a certain level of intimidation was required.
"I like it, Damian," she said, and there was no lie to it. "Here's hopin' I don't have ta actually put it to the test any time soon." Her laughter was almost sardonic -- it was rare enough for any Xeno to go more than a few months, at their most fortunate, without some kind of flight-related bump or bruise. It wasn't a matter of 'if', but 'when'.
Though he smiled at her dark humor in respect of the helmet's protective qualities, there was an undeniable amount of bitterness and even regret on his face. The corners of his eyes did not wrinkle to suggest that the smile was genuine, it was likely that even in his relatively brief tenure as Commander, that he had endured the loss of people he cared for. There was at least one such well circulated rumor to suggest that. "I designed it for rough use and even harsh conditions. All in the hope that even if the helmet can't be recovered, at least we'll still have you." He tried to enunciate his smile with added sincerity, and that was at least a partial success.
"I want for our people to have no difficulty recognizing you. It must seem vain, but I did assemble your helmet to catch the eye. So that even if there are people who don't remember, nobody will ever forget you. I never want for you to languish in obscurity ever again. Your place is here now, at the forefront of this movement. And it's important you don't forget how valuable you are either, hence the stone." Clearly he was more eloquent when it came to expressing sentiments, and even if he seemed conflicted by some distant recollection, the tone of what he'd expressed was no less personal and respectful.
"I'll have somebody move another desk here, preferably facing the window. I don't use this office very much, so it'll technically be yours, I'll visit whenever I need your help. I might also visit to simply talk to you, in my capacity as a person and not the Commander. But I'll understand if you have reservations against such a thing. It's not very professional of me, that's for sure." For a moment, he glanced around the room, perhaps rearranging it in his head to figure out the best way to accommodate a working space for her. It was unlikely that he had anything else that was pertinent for discussion, but all the same he hadn't told her to leave. That was her decision to make in light of what he'd just said.
Siobhan gave a single nod of acknowledgement. "I'm hopin' to not put it to too strenuous a use," she added briefly. "I've no doubt that it's sturdy, but I ain't lookin' to test my luck."
The part about being recognised she did her best to gloss past. What Damian wanted from her in that regard was one thing, but she had no taste for being thrust straight back into the spotlight. Better to moderate his expectations and desires further down the line than confront him directly. Instead, she followed his gaze towards where her imagined desk would find itself, pursing her lips slightly before nodding again.
"Works fer me -- both th' office and the visitin'. It ain't gotta be all business, an' I got on well wi' my peers in th' past as fellow people as well. You're welcome fer a chat any time."
Her smile was genuine, although a tiny bit guarded. He needed the alone time more than she did, she suspected -- after all, he had a revelation of the self to plan for the others. In that, her thoughts mirrored his own. It was time to wrap this up.
"If'n that's all, anyway, Damian," she continued shortly, perhaps interrupting his train of thought as he mentally rearranged the room. "I'm to be back at Ouray before th' day's out."
His mental rearranging did not cease, but it caused no issues as far as his attention to her words was concerned. This was perhaps the only time he spoke without directly regarding her. "I'll see you again when all the Luminaries convene. You've had impeccable timing with your return, I've been overburdened with organizing operations across an extra sector of Liberty, beyond what I can reasonably manage." As if through the flick of a switch, his almost friendly attitude hardened back into ice. It was nearly acrid as far as demeanors went, a sign that he'd slipped back into a calculating and distant mentality.
"Liberty or death." The words spoken like a farewell or a mantra he'd grown used to reciting. While the phrase itself was necessarily simple, the meaning behind his usage of it was far less obvious than an idealist might hope for.