"Oh, that's smooth." There's an edge to the way she grins, but she does step back and gesture for him to come inside.
Her cabin is clearly a blend of two different rooms, but they share a common aesthetic. There's her office, dominated by a simple wooden desk covered in paperwork contrasted with a chair like a fiendish throne; there's her bedroom, dominated by a canopy bed hung with red velvet curtains and covered in white satin sheets. The decoration ranges from 'demon heads on plaques' to 'paintings of vast, beautiful landscapes'.
Envy without fear has become such a novelty that it catches her off guard for a moment, before she settles into a faintly nonplussed smile.
"I'd take you for a trip in the clouds, but - " She shrugs, and hovers a few inches off the ground. It still requires a certain level of poise and balance, but it's not exactly exciting.
Maybe it's because her memories already felt jumbled after a week in another life, but she's abruptly thrust back in time: staring at the creche in the bowels of Genosha where babies were grown to be slaves, wondering why it felt so damned familiar.
"Imprisoned in space. That's another level of insult." She has a feeling they both have reason to see the cosmos and believe in their bones that it meant freedom.
"Not at the moment, but the first round? I was very intent on dying and the Admiral interrupted me." In retrospect she's surprised she didn't fling herself offboard then and there; maybe if she hadn't been distracted by other passengers.
"The second time, and this one, he asked. Probably because he knew I'd say yes."
"I think it usually does. I've never been an inmate, so - take my perspective with a grain of salt, but. I think it always helps to have someone on your side."
How dare you catch her being wrong about a thing. The disgruntled little pout is chased almost immediately by grudging amusement, and a little bit of admiration.
"I was getting there, for the record." Her life had felt - so much bigger, this time. There was more room in it to fail, more room in it to grow.
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Her cabin is clearly a blend of two different rooms, but they share a common aesthetic. There's her office, dominated by a simple wooden desk covered in paperwork contrasted with a chair like a fiendish throne; there's her bedroom, dominated by a canopy bed hung with red velvet curtains and covered in white satin sheets. The decoration ranges from 'demon heads on plaques' to 'paintings of vast, beautiful landscapes'.
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"I mean it. I was very jealous for a bit, after the dreams."
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"I'd take you for a trip in the clouds, but - " She shrugs, and hovers a few inches off the ground. It still requires a certain level of poise and balance, but it's not exactly exciting.
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He says it placidly enough, a shrugging admission, as though he were simply a bit sheltered, rather than deprived.
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"Was that incidental or designed?"
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He's not completely sure he's parsing her question correctly. "In that I was definitely a prisoner, but also lots of people live on space stations."
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"Is that how you feel here?"
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"The second time, and this one, he asked. Probably because he knew I'd say yes."
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She does admit, with a bit of a half-shrug, "Never had a permanent warden before this, either. I assume that helps."
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He's been alone often enough to appreciate it.
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Just the kinship of dreams and borrowed lives, probably. Either way, he makes a good point.
"It does. Assuming they stick around."
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"I have my sordid and bloody past, I promise. I just managed to live through it," he tells her wryly. For better or for worse.
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"I was getting there, for the record." Her life had felt - so much bigger, this time. There was more room in it to fail, more room in it to grow.
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