Re: second floor ; smoking
"You assume there is more to everyone than what you see," she countered. "Not everyone is gifted with your depth. I have known many men, and most would not have sat here talking to me about things for this long, not without a goal that involved pillows and a very soft surface. Is there more to those men than the conquest? Or are they simply what you see?" Tellingly, she didn't disagree with his observation; she simply didn't address it. His comment about wisdom earned him a laugh, and her platinum blonde curls danced with her mirth. "Ah, I think you are wrong, bello. The happiest people are those who are not wise. What does wisdom bring us? Knowledge is suffering. Better to smile and laugh and hope you come to believe your own lies." It was a jaded view, but it fit her as well as her dress. Her youth had not been a kind one, and she had never had the luxury of dreaming.
But he did inspire confidences, and she inclined her head when he asked for verification of that fact. "Si." Her expression had gone serious for that response, because he deserved the seriousness. But the severity melted somewhat with his statement about secrets. "Secrets are shared for a reason. I shared mine with you because I thought you would listen. That you would keep them close is a kindness. I am certain that I will not speak the words again, not once we are away from here," she said, motioning to indicate the ship and their surrounding, the increasingly pervasive sweetness of decay accompanying the gesture. "It was nice to have confessed," she added, favoring him with a smile that could light up a screen.
She was unsurprised that he was uncertain about which kind of woman to value most. Without his saying, she had already realized that this man was no womanizer. His mother had raised a gentleman, he said, but she suspected it went beyond that. "Why must they stand by? Better said, why do you consider it standing by? Is being there for you, before and after, not its own brand of aid?" she asked. "There must be some strength to be found in knowing someone waits for you, in knowing someone shares your burdens." She had no burdens of her own, none beyond the growing weight of her limbs and the blurriness of her vision. Even away from here, she sensed she felt unnecessary in a way that made little sense to a life lived in the spotlight. But even the best parts were only parts. This man, he had significance in more relevant ways. "If you love, is the one you love not always first? Even if the battle comes, as it sometimes must, must it be a competition between them?"
Nephritis made a living from kisses that looked beautiful. Like all her other pretenses, kissing was something that could either appear beautiful, or if could truly be a thing of beauty. The two things were not the same, regardless of what the audience believed. When he kissed her, she returned the kiss with one that would not make the audience swoon. Her other hand was just as heavy and cold as she lifted it to his cheek, and her fingers were nearly imperceptible against the curve of his jaw. The kiss was slow and thorough, knowing, but not rushed, and she smiled once it was done, her hands sliding down along his arms. "Will you bring diamonds to my grave?" she teased, funerary breath mingling with his, because she understood now. How could she not?