Re: B&B: Cat & Jack
She didn't mention the decor, of course she didn't. The tucking away of the dolls was her only tell, and her distraction could be about anything, couldn't it? Anyway, she hid it well, and she kept her mind from straying too far. It was a test, and maybe it was a good way to prepare for her new military career, because sitting amid memories wasn't easy. It was like the foyer in the docha, and she hadn't been in that room often. But it existed, the room, for unwitting visitors calling upon little ballerinas. Oh, Cat had never gone through that particular training. No, she hadn't required the lie, but this bedroom reminded her of the places visitors saw. A harmless house, old and big and with warm beds and a barre affixed to a mirrored wall, a reminder of a time when pretense was more important in the program.
"I enjoy the parties. They offer an interesting insight, I find. People, who they really are when pared back. I'm not sure being being too yourself is the problem. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say you're very bad at letting go, Jack. To enjoy those nights? You have to be able to let the walls fall to the ground. You're full of secrets and motivations you don't let see the light. If you ask me, which you didn't, it's why you ask so many questions. Easier to ask than lay yourself bare. And being a terrible Catholic? Is, in my opinion, a good trait." Cat had grown up with religion everywhere, but she'd never believed in a God. No God would allow the things she'd seen to happen, and that was that.
"I speak Bukowski's language." Perhaps that was metaphorical, tongue in cheek, a teasing nothing. Perhaps it was, and she smiled at the cat. She thought it was good, Jack having something to take care of. In fact, she thought everything with Jack was better than she'd seen in a very long time. Whatever brought it about? She was glad of it, and then he offered information about promises, and she moved her knight with no planning and even less thought.
"I don't know Rilke." She pronounced the name wrong, after a mossy glance toward the book. Rye-lk. "I do enjoy sentiment." She did. No point in arguing that, not with someone who'd swapped books with her. "Feel like telling me why a journalist made such an impractical promise?" She held her glass out to him. Another.