He smirked briefly, as if considering the idea of subjecting his partner to culinary "experiences" back home, but then and perhaps thankfully Damien shook his head.
"Tempting, but no I won't." Despite that trip in particular, the memory of being camped out and eating burgers on a long stretch of dusty wasteland felt surprisingly recent and fresh in the mind. Instinctively his mind pulled up more memories from that trip, her laughter when met with spiteful comments about her people, and their trip to the Stace's workshop.
"I'm sorry for last time. But you're right, the food I packed then was horrible and I am looking forward to eating an actual meal in your home this time." There was a certain softness to the way these words were spoken that conveyed implicit sincerity, and something else that was hard to put a finger on. It seemed like something she said had resonated with him and provided encouragement, not unlike how she had asked him not to ever change when on the ship.
Behind this resolve that encouragement was propping up, he steeled himself for what could very well be an unpleasant reintroduction to the patriarch of Fiorella's family.
She pressed the gas pedal to the floor, making the ride on the dusty road somewhat wilder as the car tended to leap into the air over each significant bump. She seemed unfazed by this, or rather, it was clear she thoroughly enjoyed it even though, on a few occasions, they could have crashed.
"[I certainly hope so. There is no tastier food in Sirius than here - well, maybe except for a few luxurious establishments emphasizing greatly on -]"
A loud explosion abruptly cut off her words as something detonated beneath their right rear wheel. Fiorella immediately had to swerve the steering wheel to the opposite side, skilfully maneuvering to escape an inevitable skid, and stopped the car at the rural roadside.
She exhaled deeply and elegantly stepped out of the vehicle, offering an apologetic look to her companion as she went to inspect the damage, only to be greeted by the sight of a deformed rear wheel with a shredded tire.
"[Unexploded munitions. Wonderful.]"
She commented, her voice laced with annoyance, as she knelt in the dust next to the wheel to examine the condition of the axle and the undercarriage.
The moment they came to a stop it seemed as if some degree of training, experience, or perhaps both kicked in. Damien quickly went over his own person and then that of Fiorella's to determine if either of them were bleeding from shrapnel or had otherwise simply not felt an injury they sustained from that ordnance. When it was clear that she was in entirely one piece, a wave of relief passed over his face for a fleeting second before his almost routine confidence took over again.
"Well, I don't think there's any spare tires out here." A barely audible voice crack was the only chip in the "armor" of his exterior.
There was really only one option left now. "We'll have to hoof it the rest of the way, or at least until we can hail somebody to pick us up." A deep breath preceded him rapidly surveying his surroundings for bearings after the sudden stop. And once certain, he brushed his hand over the shoulder of his confidante while beginning a steady walk - obviously taking for granted she would follow along beside him. Though given her choice to don heels rather than something suited for terrain of this sort, he was on hand to support her if needed.
After inspecting the undercarriage, Fiorella straightened up and pulled her keys from the ignition. She removed a memory card from the central column and slipped it into her trouser pocket. Closing the car door, she quickly caught up to her companion, heels or no heels.
"[We may call for a pickup at anytime, Damien. My bodyguards have been shadowing us since we left the starport.]"
She smiled and gestured towards their five o'clock. If her companion looked in that direction, he would see nothing but more semi-wild bushes with green-orange leaves. If anyone was hidden there, they blended seamlessly into the contrast between the shrubbery's direct sunlight and the shadows.
However, she did not give him much time to spot the hidden guards and started walking along the dusty road toward her estate. Her business shoes with higher heels were hardly ideal for the terrain, but after a few dozen steps, her sense of balance adjusted to the highly unstable footwear.
"[Do not wander too far into the wild grass - some of our breeders have inadvertently introduced, among other small critters, rather venomous snakes to this landscape. And they find the sunny environment here very pleasant. It would be quite ironic if the Kingsnake himself would succumb to the venomous snake bite.]"
Fiorella continued her relaxed conversation. Her companion might have noticed she seemed physically younger than their previous trip to planet Houston. She did not suffer from her usual chronic thirst, which she typically quenched anywhere else, and the fine fatigue wrinkles on her face were gone. She was in her element.
"[As a young girl, I used to catch them with my peers, holding them in our hands and bringing them home. I could catch one of those vipers as a souvenir for you, but it would likely suffer outside of Malta. They have beautiful conical scales, almost like a milky colorful glass, protecting them against the sharp wild grasses.]"
She turned to him from behind her golden mirrored sunglasses.
"[How did you trouble your parents as a child, Damien?]"
Damien smirked at her remark that made playful reference to his nickname back home, even if the original intent behind it was to insult him. Though he did politely turn down her request of a live souvenir to take back home. "No, let them be." A simple enough and polite refusal. Though in truth he was more concerned that the pet he did look after might just end up eating anything else he might try to take home.
He seemed in high spirits, with a slight smile occupying the far corners of his mouth. But the question she decided to pose did blindside him and harden his expression a little. Thinking back to what his early life was like was rarely a pleasant experience. To be reminded of how much constant attention to detail he needed in order to pretend to be like everyone else, but also what his parents expected him to be. "By not being what they paid for."
By itself this answer was hardly elaborate, so he explained further. "Sometimes I'd forget I was supposed to pretend to be something else around them. Sometimes it would be because I hoped that maybe if I showed them glimpses of who I really was that they would like me more than their idea of what I should be. It never ended well." It was certainly a less wholesome tale compared to the one Fiorella told.
But that seemed to be a persistent trend with the truth in its barest form.
After he expressed his thoughts, Fiorella's lips curled into a subtle smirk, and she lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Ascending towards the fringe of the picturesque valley, the heart of the De Marco clan's domain, she unbound her sleek black hair, allowing them to cascade freely in the gentle breeze.
Refocusing on him, her demeanor subtly shifted.
"[You have not faced your parents yet, have you?]"
She inquired, pausing to fix him with a direct and penetrating gaze. In that moment, her posture transformed, shedding any semblance of her casual human guise to reveal the predatory, yet playful alien creature within her.
"[What if I choose to meet with them, much as you seek to converse with my father, Salvatore de Marco?]"
Her inquiry resonated with deeper implications, transcending the simplicity of a mere question.
Seeing his parents again, it was a prospect that had by no means crossed his mind over the years. "I never really wanted to see them again." While he was casual about the fact that he had in fact not elected to visit his parents, her suggestion of meeting them together seemed to genuinely shock and perhaps even unsettle him. "You want to meet my parents? Together?" It was as if he was having trouble believing that she was serious about this and needed confirmation. In his mind it was hardly a risk worth taking, even for formality's sake.
And while his composure had recovered from how significantly this idea startled him, it was an eventuality he had neither anticipated or looked forward to now that it was in the cards.
He was secretly hoping this was just another ruse of hers to mess with him, to prove she could unnerve him in ways nobody else could. But there was every likelihood that she might resolve to seriously consider this idea even if that was not the original intention, purely out of whimsy.
"Fine.. we can think about that later. For now, let's go say hello to your family. Properly this time." Ditching the mask and becoming more comfortable with their language would more than certainly make this a less intrusive visit on his part, but this was also a hopeful thought in the back of his mind. There was nothing holding any of her family members back from resolving to dislike him regardless of how he presented himself. And at least in that eventuality, it would be something he was relatively familiar with.
Something in his reaction amused her, and she decided to draw nearer. If Damien allowed, she gently touched his face, her index finger tracing a circle around his visage. Her steel-blue gaze, simultaneously human and inhuman, sought to delve into the essence of his being.
"[Why not?]"
She murmured slowly, almost whispering as if the words were meant solely for him despite their isolated presence in the Maltese countryside. Her bodyguards might have been nearby or not — that certainty eluded him.
Unfamiliar thoughts and sensations began to infiltrate his mind again. They were feelings of joy, albeit slightly altered, different. Or were they? There was more to it. Joy at the expense of others? The thrill of the hunt and the sense of danger. These were potent, intoxicating feelings, almost lending meaning to his own existence. They heightened the senses, quickened the heartbeat, and pumped adrenaline.
"[You will meet my parents, and I will meet yours.]"
She whispered these words directly into his ear, rousing him from the trance induced by her influence. Who else could it be here? It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this - different situations, different environments, but one element remained constant - Fiorella de Marco was always present.
"[Fair, is it not?]"
There was a playfulness in her voice, and it was difficult to discern whether she was serious at the moment or merely toying with him, studying and assessing his reactions as she did a couple of times before.
There was a small involuntary shiver that ran through his muscles when touched, as if that had sparked some kind of feedback he wasn't prepared to deal with. But almost as soon as her senses sought to infiltrate his mind, the maws of something incomprehensibly vast and utterly vacant snapped shut - almost painfully. It was comparable to a window falling shut on a prying finger, but ramped up to a raw sensory level given that the finger was replaced with somebody's mind. And with Damien silent for a few seconds thereafter, it was likely he understood the implications of what just happened and gave his partner a moment to comprehend it herself.
"Sorry. It's just that the last I spoke to them, well, we didn't leave things on a pleasant note. I've not made contact since then, so I'll have to see how to reach them without complications. But I'll.. arrange something, and then we can see them." Not sure what to make of this exchange himself, Damien left it at that. Resolving to focus on their pace towards the estate. The previously dominant uncertainty had been overwhelmed by this resurgent resolve and it showed in his brisk walking.
On a more unspoken level, Fiorella's senses were more aware of something else about him. The vaguest of notions of there being a barrier between his mind and hers, and it felt as if any attempt to breach it would have been futile.
Her expression did not betray surprise at Damien's mental retreat; on the contrary, it seemed like a development she had long anticipated. Judging by her slightly narrowed eyes, this was not the first time she had encountered such a situation. It appeared casual, almost as a mere move in the long game played between her and Damien.
Despite noticing his quickened pace, her light smile combined with those half-closed eyes conveyed an unwillingness to match his speed. She continued along the dusty road leisurely, likely owing to her business footwear adorned with heels.
Even with her slow and deliberate pace, seemingly meant to tease and test his patience, they inevitably arrived before an ornate gate over the dusty path. The gate, adorned with elaborate script, welcomed visitors to the lands and plantations of Fiorella Arianna de Marco. Her lands were not the only ones in the valley - it was dotted with other similar estates, large and small, all luxurious in appearance. In the valley's center, amidst the plantations, a small town was visible. As she had once described to her companion, the town was mainly composed of low, white-plastered buildings with ample glass and expansive gardens, avenues, and pools. The way these structures were integrated into the terrain also suggested underground sections.
The road now straightened, leading directly to the main building on her property, with cultivated fruit trees planted on either side.
"[Catch.]"
She snapped her companion out of his thoughts about meeting her father. When Damien looked towards her, she was perched high in the crown of a pseudo-apple tree, ready to toss him one of the freshly picked red and yellow fruits.