She finished her glass of ice water and set it down on a nearby coffee table while she removed the towel from her head. She carefully ran her fingers through her still wet black hair and combed it with slow, careful movements. For some reason, she was not going to use a comb to comb through her hair just yet.
"A date? That is a pretty ambitious concept for a date when neither of us trust each other. But whatever the trust between us, I am sure my proposed game will bring a new perspective to both of us."
Fiorella dryly assessed the current state of distrust between her and her companion, but her expression did not show that it bothered her in any way. Apparently she was resigned to it or even comfortable with the state of affairs.
"I propose that the venue for our little venture would be Manhattan. There are so many upper-class darlings there that even with a fake story we could easily fit in. It is not humanly possible to remember them all, especially if they are all young and promising. Feel free to correct me if my assumptions are wrong, of course."
She slowly turned her head towards him over her left shoulder and gave him a brief smile before turning her attention to the ornamental mechanical clock hanging on the wall. It did not work, but it was in very well-preserved condition and probably would not be too difficult to repair.
"I am beginning to feel this place. A pervasive melancholy surrounds my senses, creeping into my thoughts as a mere suggestion. Memories of past glories, burnt-out hopes and quiet resignation. I wonder what works of art emerge from these feelings under the hands of perceptive artists. Have you noticed any artworks in here, Mister Doe?"
