Despite the significant shift that her expression betrayed, Damien remained resolute. "No mask this time. I have to do this." While he phrased this as being necessary she could pick up on the subtle undertone of how she was actually being requested to support him.
Clearly this was important to him. Important enough that he was willing to risk another confrontation in a place exceptionally alien to him and without any of the securities he might be used to. And while he could certainly contest airspace, a fistfight was very much not Damien's domain. That implied being stupid enough to actually be in one.
"I know the risks but I've made up my mind." He gestured at his already packed bag and then towards a plain looking watch fastened about his wrist. There was nothing peculiar about it, save that it was tightly fitted around the wrist and seemed to not display time at all. In the place of functioning as a timepiece it seemed to provide readouts that were all currently zeroed.
Beneath his confident exterior, he was worried she might not understand and vehemently refuse. But he had to hope otherwise.
In her face, or more precisely in her eyes, a contemplative expression briefly appeared. It gave the impression that she was replaying his words over and over in her mind. She placed her hands on her hips.
"And what is your plan?"
She asked in a deeper voice, tinged with a hint of tenderness despite her authoritative posture, perhaps for her lover? For a few seconds, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
"I need to know what you have planned. While a heightened conflict between two individuals can be entertaining, I do not relish it with those I care about. And I refuse to be put in a position to choose between you and my father."
Reluctance. That was what she could immediately pick up on, he didn't want to give her a full answer for reasons that he also seemed equally hesitant to provide. "I just want to have a civil conversation with him and ask him something. Nothing more." His tone and posture suggested that this wasn't a lie, but it was far from being the truth given the sheer amount of omission of tangible information he was subjecting the answer to.
"There won't be anything for him to be offended by this time. I promise. No mask. No rations. Nothing disrespectful to the household." While saying this he took the potential risk of reaching for his partners hands, no doubt hoping to hold them in his own and make the situation feel less imposing and more under control.
Mischievous and cunning sparkles once again danced in her eyes, followed by a short chuckle in her deep, melodious voice. She lightly shook her head to rid her face of a strand of her black, glossy hair.
"I hope you will be much more relaxed when you speak with him."
With her left hand, clad in a black glove adorned with golden inductive pads on the fingertips, she gently caressed his face.
"Just promise me you will not provoke Salvatore, will you? My father is far more dangerous than I am - and as my biological parent, he is naturally suspicious of you. You will be the same when Ciara reaches an age where she starts showing interest in other men and inevitably brings one of them home."
A kiss preceded his acceptance, brief but no less affectionate than the countless others they'd shared by now. "I promise." Relief seeped through his words and posture. It was no grand mystery why and she likely had a number of guesses by now, and one among them perhaps even correct.
But with her support or perhaps lack of opposition secured, there was nothing further he had to say. Opting to retrieve the hefty bag from the floor and cast his partner a glance as if silently asking when she would be willing or able to leave this cesspool of a station. Damien never much cared for the Barrier. Least of all now and with significantly more important things on his mind. A small bit of anxiety crept in at the instigation of concealed impatience. It was a foreign feeling, but unlike the plethora of others - this seemed to come from somewhere within and was entirely endemic to his perception.
Trying to work it out in detail only seemed to make it worse and so he put the thought aside for now.
For an extended period, Fiorella observed him in silence, her demeanor reflective of profound contemplation over his request to meet her unpredictable father once more. The whirlwind of thoughts in her mind remained veiled – as was her custom, she meticulously controlled her facial expressions and gaze to conceal her true intentions.
"What about your inconspicuous entourage, Damien?"
Her lips twisted into a sardonic smirk as she gestured subtly towards the four men serving as Damien's honor guard at Barrier Gate.
Following these words, she delicately lifted her right hand to her lips, whispering quietly in her native tongue into her watch. Shortly thereafter, two additional individuals, bearing the same alien elegance as herself and dressed in civilian attire, appeared from the corridor she had just left, proceeding towards the ship. Were they her honor guard – assassins masquerading as civilians? If she told him that she was a soldier in her past, now there are no signs of it in her modus operandi. They even gave Damien a polite, welcoming smile as they passed him.
"Do they remain here aboard the station, or are they expecting to accompany you?"
The absence of discernible irritation in her voice suggested that Fiorella was either adept at masking it or had grown accustomed to transporting various VIPs and their entourages aboard her vessel.
He eyed the newcomers from Fiorella's entourage passively and nodded in return. "By now the freighter which brought me here is well clear of the station with the guards aboard. I didn't intend to bring them along at all, only deter any third parties from intruding on us." It seemed as if he had faith in the fact that her people would treat him as if he were one of their own if instructed to.
It was a good thing he'd used the years productively and kept at his lessons on the local language. He could now very easily keep pace in conversation and pass himself off as at least being on par with a native speaker. Though the added nuance was obviously lacking given his origins being so divergent from those of the people he sought to meet. Damien was also carefully considering what he would wear once at the estate, hoping choice of attire would not prove to be yet another source of conflict.
But for now the only thing worth considering was that staying here was a waste of time. All that seemed to be left to do was to disembark and with accommodations far more significant that what the outbound Kestrel had to offer.
Fiorella nodded towards the airlock leading to her ship and offered him an encouraging smile, her white teeth gleaming.
"Then let's go."
She added with her deep, melodious voice and proceeded through the transitional chamber to her personal vessel, Amalfi. From inside the Barrier Gate Station, the entrance to her ship seemed ordinary and mundane. However, once aboard, the atmosphere shifted. Though the outer compartments of Fiorella's personal yacht did not differ much from other space vessels with their metallic and polymeric interiors, a closer look revealed precisely fitted and tightened panels, neatly aligned cables, and not a single screw missing from any installed devices. Damien could feel his footsteps on the Outcast vessel were silenced, with no vibrations transmitted to the ship's interior.
The sensation was surreal, inhuman. The Outcasts dedicated attention to detail in their ship constructions unmatched anywhere else in Sirius. The main reason for this needed to be more definitively and academically answered, though they often spoke of a more sophisticated perception of reality than ordinary humans could comprehend. There was little point in asking – Damien did not know what his perception lacked compared to his lover, and Fiorella could not articulate it in human terms even if she wished to; such words simply did not exist.
Soon, they passed the external spaces of Amalfi, deeper into the inner citadel, where the crew quarters were located – shielded by the ship's strongest armor. A stark comparison to the outer bulkheads, which were typically depressurized during normal operations to prevent fires and the spread of pressure waves and were only inhabited by remotely controlled industrial automatons of all kinds and sizes – from humanoid robots for general maintenance to specialized robotic arms for precision work and heavy duty labor.
Heavy doors closed and locked behind Damien, revealing the livable part of the ship, exuding a cozy and tasteful atmosphere. The walls were lined with varnished synthetic wood panels in dark shades, which, unlike regular wood, were utterly non-flammable. They were interspersed with protruding metallic structural bulkheads. The lighting on the ship was in warm, soft yellow hues for maximum visual comfort of the crew, and they maintained the temperature at 18°C with 55% humidity. Damien had to strain his hearing to catch the distant, now isolated engines gaining power as Amalfi moved away from the station.
Fiorella, the ship's owner and guide, led him to the guest cabin, reminiscent of a smaller luxury apartment like those seen on Orbital Spa & Cruise liners, and furnished in the same style as the rest of the ship and in his cabin awaited a comfortably appearing bed with red satin bedding, a work desk with an ergonomic chair, a small kitchenette, a bathroom with an integrated toilet, and finally a wide-screen display opposite the bed, covering 3/4 of the opposite wall. A wardrobe, seamlessly blending with the apartment's wall, had a white shirt and black casual, relaxed-style pants prepared for him, as well as a blue men's robe hanging on the bathroom door, several towels, and other hygienic necessities.
"I believe you will have a pleasant stay here - after all, we know how to care for our valued guests."
Fiorella turned to him and spread her arms wide, highlighting the apartment's amenities. Amalfi was more than just a space vessel - it was a home, and the interior more than matched its purpose.
While Damien did politely look over his surroundings since it was indicated to him, it seemed like he had no visible appreciation or disdain for it. That was perhaps not surprising given his background and frequent exposure to opulence in the past. One might even equate his lack of enthusiasm for it akin to being desensitized to grandeur, it had lost the gleam over time and become dull. In reality, the things he did appreciate were the finer details. The fact clothes were stocked in anticipation of his arrival, and the fact he was being treated with hospitality.
Though he did find something was lacking, in a sense, and sought to make it known. "Is that so?" A coy thing to ask set to the backdrop of obvious mischief, and given the timing he was obviously meaning to somehow confirm the notion that valued guests would be taken care of. He had already been on a direct approach to his partner even before posing the question. And he was close enough that by the time the words had been delivered he could reach out and take hold of her face tenderly.
They might as well been back in the kitchen during that night spent on Manhattan, because his every mannerism was identical. It was indicative of a few things, the most prominent of them being that his eagerness hadn't waned whatsoever. But there was one other thing that he confessed in words while leaning in further.
Fiorella chuckled softly in her deep, melodious voice, and with an amused expression, she looked directly into his eyes.
"Quell'accento ti perseguiterà ancora per molto tempo."
"That accent of yours will haunt you for quite some time."
She whispered melodious words in her native language and slightly narrowed her eyes. Her gaze became ordinary, devoid of her typical imperiousness and inherent arrogance. The only constant around her was the unnatural calmness radiating from her being, making the distant hum of the engines seem insignificant.
"Promettimi che non cambierai troppo. Voglio che tu rimanga esattamente come sei adesso."
"Promise me you will not change much. I like you just as you are right now."
Fiorella whispered again in Italian, closed her steely blue eyes, and leaned in to kiss him properly.
"Non preoccuparti, tra pochi giorni vedrai la tua Ciara con i tuoi stessi occhi."
"Worry not - in just a few days, you will see Ciara with your own eyes."