The maître d'hôtel certainly had an almost comical way of altering the notion of this dialogue from an romantic into a serious one. While under other circumstances Ezrael would have taken the invitation to proverbially dance this proverbial dance with him, guessing it was what the amiral was secretly hoping for to be able to witness, the Curacaoan was not here to share his attention with this excellently behaving man. No matter what kind of personality, thoughts and possibly even prejudical disgust was hiding behind the facade, the man was playing his role well.
Just like Isabelle.
"Please, I'll take what she does," Ezrael said, eyeing the maître for a moment in a firm way. Then, as there was nothing to add, he faced the amiral again while her servant left to do his job.
Ezrael smirked at her, not saying anything for a few seconds. Then his focus dropped, his gaze down to the table as he chuckled. "Your friend here," he sounded, refering to the maître with a hinting motion of his head in the maître's direction, "Highly disciplined. Clear way of speaking. Feels like theatre and acting are part of your core gallic values and traits."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "When Sombra re-" A blink of silence before he corrected himself. "When Miss Hookier returned from her first longer stay in Gallia, she brought a lot of souvenirs from your house. Not just the excellent wine, and plenty of that already, but also a database filled with gallic series and movies. Even music. The differences from what we have in Liberty and Bretonia and Rheinland are... how to word it... " He exhaled, smiling. "I believe the gallic culture has kept the playfulness in their media. At least that is how it felt to me. Not comparable with the neutered, streamlined industrial media produced in Liberty and Rheinland. Every now and then Miss Hookier and I watch a movie before going to bed."
While he first had tried to avoid talking about Sombra, it was probably more than obvious what kind of relationship they had, at this point. Exhaling audibly, he continued. "I feel like playing a role is something your people have in their blood, amiral. Your maître just reminded me of it, just like the things you say."
A moment of silence. His eyes were focused on hers. "A good show. My compliments for it, amiral. I admit, without implying anything negative, I am inclined to believe you in everything you say. Your confidence about the future. Your lack of fear for being a target. Even when admitting that there are aspects of Gallia you would consider flawed, you do make it sound like it is a better place than anything we have in Sirius. Except for Curacao, obviously. If your goal was to present Gallia as a strong, admirable nation and yourself, even when allowing me to see your physical weakness, as a loyal, humble and patriotic, a strong woman of Gallia, you did that with success."
His charming smirk returned. "That being said, mon amiral, should fortune device to favor your enemies... should the the show, the theatre, decide to take a different turn... in that surely most unlikely case, I do want you to know, that since you offer me a safe haven in Gallia, I will offer you safe haven on my ship, should the need ever arise." His right hand's fingers were kneading an imaginary blob of wax as he made the offer, halfway hiding his chin from her perspective. "That is the least I can promise. That being said, don't expect our cuisine to be as intensely aromatic in scent as yours."
