For about seven seconds, he did nothing but just look at her, and then he started speaking and just being entirely honest with whatever he'd observed so far.
"You're very good at pretending that the Legion actually turned you into something more than just an angry little girl. But the truth is, you're every bit the person you used to be and you never actually grew up. You're as angry as you always were, you've kept every aspect of you that existed prior to enlisting. There doesn't even need to be a lit match nearby for you to explode and scream at somebody, you self combust of your own accord. You find it absolutely surprising when somebody is considerate of your needs and without a veiled interest. Combine that with your rabid mix of hate and fear for being touched, and I'd assume that your economically destitute situation on Houston forced you into being a sex worker, or you were naive and thought somebody wanted more than just what was under your clothes. In conversation you'll consistently deflect the subject if it gets anywhere close to you, almost as if you're deterred from the idea of talking about yourself on account of insecurities. You're a tall well built woman, but you still play a guitar decorated as if meant for a teenager, and that can be a metaphor for everything else about you too. There's also the fact that despite all your best attempts to appear unmolested by the horrors of war and violence, you're littered with emotional scarring and trauma."
He needed a drink after going through all of that, so he knocked the second one back and handled the burn that seemed to just keep going. Either she was going to scream at him and maybe even assault for everything he'd just said, or not say anything at all. There wasn't a significant chance for anything else to happen, at least not with her.
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Virginia listened to what he said for a long time, and just silently finished her second glass of scotch. Her cheeks were already starting to turn red under the onslaught of alcohol and she shook her head, "Again, I'm speechless.". She smiled and lit another cigarette, though the smile was a bit sad - yes, Morreti had hit the bullseye. Virginia knew who she was and had little illusions about herself. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke away from him, "Some of your points are on spot, some are close enough and rest are misses."
She reached for the bottle and poured herself a third glass of scotch, "I won't be remembering this tomorrow anyway.", her gaze curling towards the stage as she watched the new band playing. She narrowed her eyes and tapped her heavy boot to the rhythm of their music, "I have that guitar because I can't bring myself to throw it away and buy a new one. Too many memories to go with that piece of battered wood.", she took a long drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke, "Can you imagine that it survived two hits near my quarters? It was in the locker, but still.".
If there was a likelihood that she might not remember any of this tomorrow, then he may as well keep being honest since it wouldn't amount to future consequences. Just as she'd been closely observing him over the past few days, he monitored every small detail about how she reacted to everything he'd just said. "If I already know most of what you try to hide from people, what's the point in hiding anything from me anymore?" It was an incredibly simple question, based purely on the logic of this being an exercise in futility. If he'd figured out this much without her cooperation in confessing any of it, it was only a matter of time before he figured out everything else too. And rationally, her insecurity tried to prevent this, because knowing these things would be the point when people walked away.
"What are you afraid of? What do you think I'm going to do that's so horrifying that I have to be kept at an arm's length literally and figuratively?" He had to ask these things, because he quite literally couldn't bring himself to understand why she behaved the way she did. And while he might not have stated what his intentions were, at least not explicitly, it was clear that even after he'd figured out all of this that one fact remained.
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Virginia blew out a puff of aromatic smoke and flicked the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray, turning her head towards him only slightly, "Why don't I want to talk about it?" she asked him a rhetorical question and after taking a sip from her glass continued, "It's too personal, that's why.". Taking another drag from her cigarette, she took a moment to listen to the guitar solo, even rehearsing imaginary chords in the air in front of her, though her movements were already looking a bit sluggish under the influence of the alcohol.
"We barely know each other, Morreti.", she blew another puff of smoke and closed her eyes, "Professionally, I trust you, you've risked a lot, you've saved me and my crew, so I'll have your back.". She paused for a moment and placed her right hand behind her head, "On the personal side, I trust almost no one, not even you - well, not fully anyway. But you've figured that out too, haven't you?". She asked him the question, her head still turned slightly towards him with her eyes closed.
His eyes narrowed in response to the last thing she said, because something didn't add up for him, and it should have been obvious to her what that was. "Nothing's professional in the world you've just decided to be part of. I didn't save you or your crew out of professional courtesy. And if you don't trust me on a personal level, then you've been a fool to tell me about your addiction. That has very personal consequences, I'm not sure if you've seen what they do to addicts in Huntsville, but being touched would be the least of your concerns. So are you a fool or are you trying to trust me? Which is it?" While all of that had been put across to her politely, there was an unmistakable sense of weight to the question.
"You can spare me the obvious facts too. I'm aware we don't know each other well. But you make it nothing short of impossible to know you. And in the long run I can't work with somebody or something I don't know, because then I can't trust them. And when everything's personal in the underworld that accounts for more than you think." It was an uncompromisingly harsh reminder that this wasn't the Legion, all the safety nets were gone and there were no longer any rules to the game. Everything was boiled down to its most basic principles, anything left over was cannibalized in the interests of the same. Since she seemed so desperate to drink herself into oblivion, he stopped bothering to reach for the bottle.
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Virginia opened her eyes and took one last drag from her second cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray, "I won't deny that prison will be quite a problem for someone like me - pretty face, cardamine and a legionnaire past. I'd like to say that I'd rather kill myself in order to not be captured, but I'm probably too much of a wuss to shoot my head off anyway. Tried that already, obviously failed, so I had to make a run for it.", she chuckled and assessed dryly the fact that former Hellfire Legion members were not popular anywhere. Plus, she, with her temper, could probably get into trouble without these three aggravating circumstances.
"I'm trying to trust you, Morreti.", she said after a moment, taking a sip from her glass of scotch, "But my drug addiction objectively had more weight than why I hate being touched. Isn't the fact that I don't like it enough?". She reached for another cigarette and lighter, but then eventually just placed the cigarette in the metal case with the lighter. There were enough cigarettes for tonight, it seemed.
Instead she just took a light sip of scotch from her glass, "I understand the value of trust - whether you can trust someone or not - but private matters have nothing to do with it. I was able to command with it, I was able to fight and kill with it, I has no issues negotiating whatsoever... so, what's the problem exactly?".
Virginia finished her third glass of scotch and moved it to the nearly empty bottle, letting the alcohol work its trick in her body. She was doing everything she could to somehow concentrate on the conversation, but it was becoming more and more difficult.
Rather than just outright dismissing her argument, he considered what she'd said and thought it over. Was trying to understand the reasons for her behavior and altering or fixing it necessary? She functioned just fine right now. As this went back and forth in his head, he poured himself one more drink. "Commanding, fighting, killing and negotiating is fine. But I'd like to see you able to just live free of every burden your old life gave you. The LFR is growing up, you can grow with it." After a long sip which didn't burn all that much, quite surprisingly, he set his glass down and felt his mind clear. But the problem with that fact was that now he wasn't able to think much at all.
"No way anyone can force you to do it, has to be your choice. But I am happy to know you're trying to trust me." He smiled and raised his glass in her direction, a gesture of toasting to her progress. It was also the first time since they arrived that his mood hadn't been hampered by her behavior, but rather improved because of the honest exchange. Though somewhat disappointingly, the band on stage suddenly stopped playing, its singer had walked off stage and the rest of its members appeared confused on what to do next.
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Virginia sighed visibly, now having some difficulty hiding her feelings and emotions behind a stony face. Now her cheeks were flushed and her glassy honest gaze was free of pretense. She shook her head slightly and smirked, "I was afraid you wouldn't have a drink with me and I'd be cursed... or as the spacers say, I don't even know anymore." She reached for the now empty bottle of scotch and tried to read the label, "T'was a good drink, almost as old as me.".
She looked up from the bottle and looked at him, "Grow up? I have to fit in my quarters.... and the uniform... and the hatches on the ship.". Her mind was clearly starting to skip a beat, but that did not seem to stop her from continuing to try and carry on a conversation, "We're out of singers, I guess you have to go sing.". She gestured drunkenly with her hands as she tried to signal his way to the stage, "Or you'll get a riot and.... a... mess.".
He chuckled when she seemed to admit being afraid he wouldn't sit down and drink with her, and that she'd be cursed otherwise. Clearly, he was more than a little drunk himself, and that was brought out more of his actual self than the face he put on. Nothing was overtly wrong with this version, but if she were sober, she'd have felt something uncanny about it. Like all the pieces needed to make a person weren't quite there. "If you want me around, or to share drinks with you, then just ask me to. I'm afraid that you'll want to have me around at some point but just won't ask out of pride or something else." It was no longer possible for him to be eloquent or specific, in fact things all around him seemed to be steadily going out of focus. The time it took him to come up with a string of words that made sense was double what it usually was. And it was almost as if there was a crowd of people constantly engaged in banter inside his own head, so much background noise and random thoughts that he was on the verge of voicing.
"Are you sure you want me to? I really should just be taking you back, we're both drunk." There was clear surprise to his voice and face when she just asked him to go take the empty spot on stage. His reservations had been neutered by whatever the alcohol percentage written on the bottle was, which he honestly should have read before consuming. A part of him wanted to make sure he wasn't leaving her in an uncomfortable situation, drunk and alone at her table.
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Virginia blinked drunkenly at him, her eyes half open, the alcohol must have been wearing her down, "Am I sure?", she asked, waving an empty scotch bottle in his direction, "If you're a singer, you have to practice...". She thought for a moment as she searched the remnants of her mind for the right words, "... if you're not, you'll whip them into a fighting frenzy or... you're a singer and you'll inspire them." She pointed the empty bottle at him again, "Get it? It's just a win-win... whether it's for the singer or the commander."
She pushed a stray blonde curl out of her face and shook her head, "Hah, I know my way home... it's that way from the pub...", she pointed somewhere towards the exit, but her gesture was wide enough to point towards a public toilet or bar, "... and then straight for the nose." She nodded and tossed the bottle in her left hand, thankfully catching it again for now.
