In The Rough

[Omi]

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'.

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