Re: second floor ; smoking
Perhaps here he could be called chivalrous, the assassin, though he was no Prince Charming on a white horse or hero with a cape. But his intentions were good even if his moral standing was chaotic, and at least he could imagine himself coming to the rescue of a woman whereas beyond this, in a world far, far away, that role seemed too flimsy for him to be bothered with. "No," he acquiesced. One thing could be said; he was far more agreeable here and now than he ever had been in the past. "How a word sounds does not equate what it means, but I admit, prefer my language regardless." Part of him thought that he should not have known what she meant by pictures, not if he was truly who he claimed to be, but that was a minor hiccup, a bump in the road easily passed, for he could not find it in himself to care. "Ah, you flatter me," he laughed, the laugh of one accustomed to such compliments, who rarely blushed or stammered.
He did not mind a differing of opinion. Hot-headed and young he might be, cocky and arrogant too, but he had steadied over the years, responsibility and duty maturing him in a way little else had. If words were said without feeling, then weren't they just words, with no meaning at all? He pondered this, and his gaze dropped when her fingers brushed against his hand. "How can it be felt," he said, slowly, turning his hand over and capturing her fingers within his, "if there is no feeling in the words? If you tell someone you love them, what makes it more than hello or goodbye?" But, for a moment, he felt as though he should have known what it was like to feel and be unable to properly express it. Just for a moment, fleeting, before it was gone.
Concern lit his gaze when she sat back, and he moved to rise, to ask what pained her, but she brushed it off before she could do either. Doubt remained even as reassurances fell from her lips, as though if she told him what was wrong he could somehow defeat it, as he defeated men who stood against him. "What pains you?" That concern, at least, was genuine, and he shook his head when she asked if he regretted her; that was easier to answer. "No. I would never regret her." The assassin paused. "I did miss her. I do," he corrected, because if she was gone then there was no past tense, was there? "Is there anyone you miss, bella?"
The comparison of men to children made him laugh. "You may be right, but once we are interested, we are impossible to shake free. Like a dog with a bone," he chuckled. "And I do, yes. Every choice we make creates the road we follow. We got into that lift, we spoke, and now," he turned his hands over, palm up. "We are here."