The half an hour she spent in the bathroom was long enough for him to exercise a sensible degree of consideration. Ordering some cold sparkling water and having it set on a table for when his accomplice was finished hogging the bathroom. She looked remarkably human in the bathrobe and with a towel on over her hair, like she really did genuinely just belong here despite the refined mannerisms. This observation meant that she would find him just looking at her with an idle sense of amusement that was betrayed by the smirk on his face. Wordlessly, he nodded and went to go make use of the bathroom and freshen up.
When he was came back to the main room and joined her to enjoy the view, it was in a fresh set of clothes that he'd packed along with the other general supplies for this trip. It was a fairly simple combination of a black shirt and blue jeans. He had gambled on the fact that if he was going to change into this then it meant that they had found somewhere tolerable to stay. On his approach to where she was standing for the sake of the view, he quickly rolled up his sleeves and did so neatly since the mood so far was quite casual and by no means formal.
Since it would have been rude to leave her question potentially forgotten, he brought the topic up again. "You wanted me to explain something about what happened with those police officers, but I'm not entirely sure what you meant by all of it being symbolic." If she would shed some light on that and even just ask him specific questions, it would benefit the ultimate goal which was lucidity.
She stood at the window and as soon as he asked her, she turned her gaze away from the window and looked straight into his eyes. She was silent for long seconds as she watched his reactions and, in the meantime, she managed to take a sip her icy water. Only then did she decide to answer him.
"You did what your movement is doing, did you not? It was an exemplary rescue of an oppressed, common man from a totalitarian power that was trying to enslave him. Or did it have a whole other meaning, Mister Doe?"
She raised her eyebrows questioningly, seemingly not bothering to show more of her natural facial expressions. Her preternatural calm still did not leave her, however.
"But I missed one detail - what did you give that man, Mister Doe? I hope it was not a large sum of credits, because that can only help a financially illiterate person in the short term or on a direct, one-time basis. This is the main reason why rich people get rich because they know what to do with their wealth to multiply it, while others do not."
She was impossible to read and that was mildly frustrating but equal parts amusing, he knew nobody else like this and it almost seemed entirely impossible to be so behaviorally vague. "Seeing what they did to him brought back memories. Kind that can make you angry, so I reacted the only way I felt how. I'll spare you the details, some of it you're already aware of." While her intentions to know more about him might have been genuine rather than strategic, he wasn't feeling so secure with the idea of being an open book with one of them yet.
"I gave him some credits for a room and food, it'll keep him off the street for tonight and gives him an alibi to avoid suspicion when the LPI tries to investigate its two dead cronies. There'll be a small amount left over in case his dog needs anything after getting kicked around like that. But you're right in assuming it's symbolic of the movement, because I did give him a choice to leave this behind." His reasons for being generous with money were now actually revealed to be quite strategic, and if viewed with enough cynicism perhaps self serving. So long as the man who was down on his luck evaded suspicion, so would they. From the way his expression seemed to shift ever so slightly, it was clear he silently disagreed with her philosophy on how only the wealthy could generate wealth, but he was also evidently not interested in debating the finer points of economic philosophy.
Instead, he moved the conversation along. "You can call what happened whatever you want. You can romanticize it or criticize it. But for me, it just felt good to be the wrong man in the right place." The latter half of this sentence almost seemed profound if given some consideration, but since he didn't really explain his thought process behind it the true intent for the phrasing was left open to interpretation.
Having said everything he wanted to say in response, he broke eye contact to enjoy the view some more.
An amused smile appeared on her face, revealing her white teeth as well. Fiorella sipped from her glass of ice water with a satisfied expression before joining her companion looking out the window.
"You are adventurous and you like a challenge, but you are not naive. You do not like to go into details, which I can infer that you do not like to talk about yourself and your movement or - you do not trust me. Judging from my own experience so far - I believe it is the latter option - or am I wrong?"
She watched the rest of the town spread out around their hotel with her steely blue eyes, almost as if on the palm of her hand from the height they were now at.
"Do you know what might be interesting, Mister Doe? Going out into high society and moving among your upper class like two wolves in sheep's clothing. A melancholic hotel like this gave me that idea, although unfortunately - I did not bring any evening dresses or matching jewellery with me today, not to mention that there will not be much of an upper class here and now."
She paused for a brief moment, turning her gaze on him to take in his reaction and expression again.
"Game and masquerade. What do you think, Mister Doe?"
A lack of affection for advertising both himself and the cause or mistrust, his answer to that question wouldn't be surprising if she'd started to understand him. "Both. The former is because talking is a poor substitute for action. The latter is because I'm far from naive, which you figured out by now, and because you haven't given me a reason to trust you." When he looked at her again, there was a certain intensity behind how his eyes tracked every minute movement. Whether it was caution or just observation for the sake of it wasn't clear, but his confidence in the moment pervaded through every aspect of him.
When she spoke, he listened with a serene stillness, something that persisted even after she'd finished talking. Before he answered, there was a slow and quite deliberate adjustment to his posture that straightened it as he turned in her direction, shoulder to the window once that series of otherwise simple movements was completed. It was like looking in a mirror but seeing a similar but unidentical reflection, and it was absolutely uncanny. "It's a date then." Just like that, the facade dropped as a smile developed once he'd accepted the invitation to play the game she proposed.
Whether or not he'd intended to do it, she was given a brief simulation of herself and the benefit of perspective on what her mannerisms and nature was like to behold. But it also served to expand his own little "toolset" of sorts. A silent analysis that allowed him to pick and chose whatever he felt the most beneficial aspects of a person were and then use it if needed. If she had come here to study him for insight into how his cause was run, then she'd clearly made the mistake of looking into the abyss for too long.
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?"
Artwork, of course she wanted to get a better sense for the decor, this was apparently her primary fascination or so he'd concluded over the time that they'd spoken. Without responding verbally, he pointed out some of the mountings on the wall, they looked like the preserved heads of creatures that were once endemic to this planet and were hunted for sport given their lethality. There was also a wall adorned with a series of pictures taken on Houston from centuries prior, putting the chance into proper perspective in a way words simply couldn't. Feeling that was satisfactory as an answer, he circled back to the other things she'd said. "You question it but that's literally the point of a date. When you have some kind of an interest in somebody, you go out with them to see if they're worth spending time with again. If they are, then you do it again. You repeat as many times as needed to figure out if you can trust them or not. And while I don't explicitly trust you, at least not yet, it's not like I consider you a nemesis either. I'm just undecided." That might have been said for the sake of reassurance, as amusing as it might have been for that to be the case given their cultural backgrounds and respective heritage.
With a nod, he'd accepted the venue she had in mind and the nature of the game she wanted to play. But the back of his mind was nagged by what it would feel like to be visiting "home" again after however long it had been. "It's not impossible to work your way down onto Manhattan, especially with your credentials. I'll manage with my own alternatives. I have friends in low places, even on a planet like Manhattan, and I have lots of them." His confidence and demeanor suggested there was no doubt that this next trip was possible. But it was up to her as to when it would take place.
With all of that said, there was a sense of expectation to his eyes now. As if quietly wondering what she intended to do next or how much longer she intended to stay here.
She grunted in agreement and nodded her head slightly about their future meeting on the planet Manhattan. She fixed her wet hair and gave him a brief look.
"Then it is settled."
She lifted her glass of ice water from the table by the window and gestured toward the decor of their presidential suite.
"I lack a testosterone level high enough to appreciate these trophies, Mister Doe. Trophies and swags are mostly a male thing, are they not? We women can only appreciate them to the extent that we can be proud of our stronger counterparts."
She turned slowly toward the window and motioned with her glass in a vague direction toward the streets and houses before them.
"I was referring to the culture and art of this world and its inhabitants. You see, while I was waiting for you at the starport, I had the privilege of seeing some interesting graffiti - apparently the work of young and boisterous artists venting their strong inner feelings outwardly. Frustration, anger and hope were overflowing, even their techniques were not bad. But there were only a few that were worth anything - two, three and no more."
"I would like to know what you, Mister Doe, can tell me about the way the local people express their feelings and emotions. Are there any interesting customs or traditions? What is the most popular art form here?"
A slight smile appeared on her face and she turned her grey-blue gaze on him. Her look was not particularly unpleasant, but rather full of questions. There was something else in it, something she was hiding.
He picked up on it immediately, unsure of what it was for now but aware that it was there. It was the most subtle thing in the world, blink and you'd miss it, the fact he'd even caught onto it was such a slim probability that only served to punctuate the fact it happened. Naturally, he could just ask directly and be assertive about it, and while that was the most effective way to figure out what a person was truly thinking it wasn't the sort of MO he followed in any regard.
"Houston isn't big on art. At least not the kind you're thinking of, any chance a source of creativity like that could have taken root is long gone. The only way you ever see it anymore is the way you already saw - dissent." It seemed like at least for the moment any semblance of what might have been a facade had been dropped and he was just speaking frankly. Genuinely trying to express what life was like here and the associated cultures. The latter part of that was something he was going to get to.
Glancing out the window and turning away from her briefly, the light caught all his facial features somewhat flatteringly, but it also enunciated every crease and evidence of stress. She was wrong to assume his life hadn't taken much of a toll on him, it had and it was going to keep exacting some kind of price in exchange for what he was accomplishing. In the seconds of time that reflection lasted, he turned back and seemed to appraise her for a moment. "With short lifespans people here don't have the time to mince words. So more often than not, they'll say exactly what's on their mind without caring for how it sounds. This can make them seem hostile, but they aren't. Life's made up of time and they don't want to waste it by not saying what they actually mean. It's why the art you saw is so expressive, it's the bedrock of this colony's culture. But so is suffering and neglect, for as kind and hospitable as the locals can be under the right circumstances, violence has become commonplace and only seems to escalate the more desperate people get. This world, this system even, all of it's just one big cage and it gives off this palpable sense of repression. Like there's something more to this place and its people, but you'd never know until that cage is thrown open."
He took a deep and slow breath after sharing all of this with her, as if suddenly stricken with a sense of melancholy and renewed determination at the same time. An odd combination to be sure, but a distinct one. "Choice. It's something the people here know the value of, and that we've fought for. And I know that behind those striking eyes of yours that something's on your mind but you aren't talking about it. You can choose to be open about it with me and cultivate trust, in return I'll be open with you. Or you can choose not to and things remain as they are." This was now a full circle. From how he'd explained the finer points of culture and sentiments here, to the man he'd interceded to prevent the arrest of, and finally to this exact conversation.
There was an almost perfect stillness to him as he waited, eyes conveying a sense of genuine interest for what her choice would actually be. It even seemed like he'd gotten a step closer and his posture had softened, likely more comfortable in this setting and trying to promote a sense of reassurance. If there was a perfect way to encapsulate everything he'd just tried to convey in words down to a single moment, then this was it.
Her pupils dilated slightly as he spoke of something she was obviously hiding from him. She blinked long to regain control of her facial expression and her apparent surprise was gone. She was silent for a moment, slowly weighing her words or her options. Finally, a small, amused smirk appeared on her face.
"Do you really want to know what I am hiding from you, Mister Doe?"
Fiorella asked him a rhetorical question with her slightly amused expression, which she answered herself after several long seconds of silence.
"It is not so much of a secret as it is embarrassing to me - but whatever, it is possible that another day I will not be able to hide as artfully as I am now. I will fulfil your wish."
She strained his curiosity by her slow speech and even longer pauses. It was most evident that she enjoyed his attention. It looked like she was about to finally answer his question when she finished her glass of ice water before deciding to continue. She turned her face towards him just slightly - so that half of her face was hidden behind her black flowing hair.
"The truth is, Mister Doe, I am not very comfortable being on this world. Houston has a different rotation than my world and it confuses me, the air irritating my airways and lungs. My head hurts. I am not used to it."
She walked to the table and poured ice water from her pitcher into her glass. She continued her melodic, slow monologue while she wiggled her right index finger on the rim of the crystal glass.
"Now you can see why I am so embarrassed, can you not?"
She sipped lightly from her glass of water and fixed her grey-blue gaze on him again. Whatever she was experiencing right now, cool water was alleviating her difficulties to a certain degree.
