Re: second floor ; smoking
"I am as fond of them as any man," he corrected quickly, as though to assuage her assumption that he might not be. Terms of endearment were the tools of charm and seduction after all, though only tonight did he claim to use them; he was no great womanizer when his feet were on dry land. "I simply prefer some to others. Baby, for example, I never quite managed to make my own." He didn't like the way it sounded on his tongue. "You are neither small nor simple," the assassin told her, his brand of flattery sounding genuine rather than contrived. "Endearment is to care, yes? You would not refer to your enemy with any fondness. The way it is said, that matters too, almost as much as what." He knew better than to say she was grown, and so he shook his head gently, not wishing to offend her even if she could not be offended. "You are not old, signorina." He wasn't quite sure of his own age, which made little sense, and he pondered it for a moment or two. "Older than twenty," he said with a smirk, "but younger than trentacinque, thirty-five." That approximation sat well enough with him.
Her laughter was nowhere near a deathly wheeze and he did not notice the rasp as he did the sickly-sweet smell, despite knowing death and having delivered countless souls to him over the years. "Just fine is not enough," he agreed. "You deserve far more." Any woman did. Fine was settling. She should not settle if she searched for love, as though he knew of such things; beyond this, that was laughable, but here he felt he had some understanding of it. "Better to have love that lives, that is alive, and able to be felt as you say," he said, and smiled. "Dying for love is better left to fiction. It is not as beautiful as one might think." He paused. "Death is tragedy, and tragedy is only beautiful to those who look from the outside and are not touched by it," he added, quieter.
He inclined his head politely at her thanks, and he did not remove his arm from her grasp as they left the confines of the elevator and moved into the room ahead. Unfortunately, he had no cigarettes hidden on his person, but the assassin looked round for one all the same even though he did agree that it was a nasty habit. She was too beautiful (and already dancing with death) to pollute herself in such a way. "Do you want to quit?" He was wary as she dropped into her chair, as though realizing she might be weaker than he'd initially assumed, but she seemed well enough as she tucked her legs to her side and so, after a moment's hesitation, he sat in the chair indicated. "Of course," he said. "Me? I am already free. We fight for freedom and we fight to keep it from those who would take it from us." Being here, on a boat he had not boarded willingly, hardly seemed like freedom. "Perhaps," he ventured. "But we are all on this ship with no exit, for water surrounds us from all sides. I can't recall why I came here, or how," he admitted. "I suppose, if this goes on long enough, my next battle will be to find a way to liberate us all."