When requested to push further he was more than happy to oblige and redlined the engine for a good few minutes. But once he'd had his fill of speed he momentarily relinquished the application of throttle and let air resistance slow them down to a comfortable cruising speed for conversation. "First time I've gone full tilt with somebody on the back. People are either too afraid to get on this thing, or aren't confident in being able to hold on if I gun the engine."
After a few seconds of letting the engine rest and taking note of his surroundings since he could actually see it now, he shot a glance back at her. "I take it you had fun being a leaf in a whirlwind?" If anything this question might as well have been rhetorical, but he still wanted to hear how it felt in her own words. And idle conversation didn't hurt because even though they'd covered a lot of ground just then, there was still quite some distance left.
The expression on her face was unreadable to him - even though he could look at her in the rear-view mirror, she still had the visor on her helmet pulled down and so her face was not visible for him. He could only guess her mood from the amused tone of her voice.
"You could say that, Mister Doe."
She answered his rhetorical question and paused for a few seconds before deciding to expand the conversation.
"Back home, I have guided my fighter to an automatic landing before parachuting at roughly fifteen kilometers off it."
"Or I have shut off the engine and flight controls in my fighter at very high altitude, let it stall, put it into a flat spin and then I enjoyed the chaos before switching all on again at low altitude."
She chuckled softly into the comm and shrugged.
"I am experiencing and trying everything my resilient body can take. I have already tried parkour and aerobatic maneuvers, maybe I could try rock climbing, scuba diving or surfing on some ocean planet. What do you think, Mister Doe, are you enjoying such extremes as well?"
"As I told you myself yesterday - life is a miracle - and I intend to make the most of mine."
If he had more freedom of movement then he would have shrugged at that question about extremes, but there was some irony to it. "I don't know, what I do on a daily basis is considered to be pretty extreme. And I've had plenty of what you can consider close calls, but I'm not actively trying to test and see if I can avoid ending myself."
There was every indication that he enjoyed a good fight, it may not be possible to glean it from his response in the moment, but his demeanor when in the field and as the Cobra certainly suggested a deep seated enjoyment of violence. And perhaps ironically, that persona was likely the most uncensored representation of true self he had hidden in public life.
What could best be described as shanties were starting to protrude from the horizon that had seemingly only played host to an indefinite stretch of dirt. Almost as if the structures had simply come into existence spontaneously rather than always having been there.
"Do you know what I think, Mister Doe? I think you do enjoy extremes. Our journey is proof of that - both today and yesterday. The high speed and excessive G's you enjoy are a stimulation to your being and senses. I think you would have enjoyed this trip a little less with a slower, clumsier machine."
She let a quiet, melodic chuckle out and looked in the direction they were flying. She shaded the brighter horizon with her left hand to make it easier to see and continued with questions.
"This is the destination of our journey? It never ceases to amaze me what the locals are willing to live in on this world."
"Molto bene, Mister Doe, what exactly are we going here for - and, a much more important question - are you expecting any issues ahead of us? I am well aware that it is mainly your followers who are supposed to be out here - yet - is there anything else I should know?"
"You aren't wrong." The comment was followed by a glance down at the machine beneath him, appreciating how it had made the trip here far more exciting than it would have been had they relied on local transit instead.
Since she seemed curious about what they could possibly be going to this literal slum for, he resolved the simplest answer was the best. And it would be somewhat amusing to observe what her reaction was. "Going to go see our tailor, he said the new batch was finished." It was certainly odd to realize that quite a bit of the material that the Xenos used came from sympathetic elements on planets like this, and to some extent even the more refined places in the House. Beneath every polished surface was hidden discontent, and brooding malice behind every forced smile.
She added quietly as she and her companion approached the dangerous looking slums of Houston when he had not reassured her of their safety. As the distance to their destination grew smaller, more and more disturbing details came into view - especially the empty broken windows where potential shooters could be lurking for her and her companion. It was exactly the sort of place where a police patrol only went if they absolutely had to. And now there was only her and her companion, Damien Morreti.
Fiorella showed no signs of concern - she still had her 'aura' of calm, slow and methodical movements about her - yet it was still evident by the way her entire body subconsciously tensed in anticipation of potential danger.
"If you have not mentioned the tailor, I could almost think you were here to pick up some potentially illegal addictive substances."
She added, slightly amused and perhaps chuckling slightly with her melodic laugh placing more emphasis on the deeper, stronger tones of her vocal range. In the face of potential danger, her joy at their trip did not seem to have left her.
"What kind of clothes are you talking about, Mister Doe?"
She asked him out of curiosity once they were stopped in front of the semi-decayed slums that stretched bleakly around them. Perhaps the most distressing feeling was that none of the locals had shown up yet at the moment, but they had been watching them cautiously, waiting.
Before he could answer they were cut off by two vehicles that rapidly blew past them and then swerved to block the path ahead. Four people got out of each car that was now serving as improvised obstructions, and all of them were armed and examining their guests on the bike. Nobody had made any sudden moves yet, as if assuming the other side would retaliate if that came to pass. But to shift control of the situation over to himself, Morreti spoke up first before their acquaintances could. "I doubt you did all this just to take a good look at the bike, so what do you want?" One of the eight on the opposing side of this roadblock stifled some laughter at that question, as if realizing who this was before the rest did.
"Mind telling us why you're here?" It was an obvious question, but rather than answering it, Morreti just took what felt like the simplest gamble and pulled at a velcro pouch situated near the bike's handlebars. This caused their newfound friends to all grow visibly tense and reach for their holsters, but they went no further than that when they saw the symbol on the little patch that Morreti produced. Instead, their body language changed to be relaxed instead and as if they were in the company of a friend now.
With this, one of the cars simply pulled out of the way to let them pass, no need for any talking past this point. Soon after this they arrived at what seemed like a humble workshop that dealt in the mass production of work clothes, overalls, jumpsuits and all manner of utility gear. None of it was particularly fancy, but there was definitely more to this place than met the eyes. This was obviously case, seeing as how Morreti gestured for his company on the back seat to dismount here.
Throughout the seemingly unfriendly encounter with the locals, she sat motionless and silent behind her companion. Her only reaction to the potential risk of an immediate firefight was to clasp her arm tighter around Damien Morreti. The expression on her face was unreadable, mostly due to her helmet, but it was probably as calm as the rest of her body.
She took another silent look around as they entered the handmade clothing workshop and sweatshop before dismounting their hoverbike at his prompting. It was only when she removed her helmet that her face betrayed her excitement at the danger they had been in moments before and her steel blue eyes, otherwise aloof and cold, almost gleamed with excitement.
"That was very close, Mister Doe. At one point it looked like we were in for a difficult firefight."
Her deep voice did not give our any hints of concern - quite the opposite. Potentially dangerous situations did not seem to bother her in any significant way and if anything - she seemed to enjoy every moment of it.
She blinked long and slow, arching her back to relax her stiff muscles from sitting on the hoverbike and carefully adjusted her helmeted, slightly disheveled long black hair.
"Am I to understand that you are coming here to pick up your high class evening suit for our Manhattan trip or, if that ever happens, travel clothes for our visit to Erie?"
She settled her unbuttoned leather jacket on her shoulders and folded her hands loosely at her sides. She fixed him with her curious and slightly amused gaze.
He deliberately ignored her question about what he was here to pick up, wanting to leave it to the imagination which was always provoked by a lack of certainty. Instead, he posed a question of his own and deflected the subject of conversation away from what he was here for. "Was that squeeze you getting ready to use me as a shield for bullets, or just an involuntary response from the excitement?" Once the question was posed, he turned around gracefully to face her and seemed expectant of an entertaining answer.
Whatever she decided to say, he'd just smirk and then start briskly walking into, and then through the workshop. Until eventually it seemed like they were inside an entirely different building altogether, more industrial and with absolutely no windows. It seemed like this hidden detachment of the otherwise bustling workshop had a more concerted agenda, the production of uniforms that oozed pride and reflected all the greater ambitions of a rebellion that was aiming for lofty goals.
She squinted her eyes slightly, half hiding her steely blue gaze behind long black lashes. There was a glint and a sparkle in her eyes that signified the thrill of danger, her natural curiosity stretched to the breaking point - or both. She puckered her lips slightly in response.
"I'll leave the answer to you, Mister Doe. Ask yourself - What do you think?"
She gave him a brief bright white smile and followed him into the workshop, as silent as a ghost. Only his footsteps echoed through the workshop as she followed him as silently as his own shadow with her curious gaze wandering over the equipment, tools and merchandise. She alternated between walking on his right and left side, each time forcing him to look behind her to the other side in moments when he wanted to make sure she was still following him.
As they entered the secret workshop, the mute surprise on her face became more apparent. She even decided to examine one of the uniforms more closely, even running her left palm over it - perhaps to assess the material it was made of. She then folded it with movements practiced over the years, placed it back on the rack neatly and continued to follow her companion with a quietly amused expression.
"I hope you are not here to have your suit made for our next trip, Mister Doe. They know their craft here, but I would not have anything but purely work clothes made here."
