Log:The Capitalist's Fantasy
While other people have chosen to visit exciting or fun places when they decided to step foot through one of the two mystery doors, it might come as no surprise to those who have known him or his other personas that this space -- a modern office, extravagant in size -- would be his fantasy scenario of choice. This office takes up most of an entire floor of this skyrise building. The first thing anyone would notice is that an entire wall of this office is clear glass, giving the spectator a good view of the city from this height. And what a city it is. There's a mixture of modern and futuristic architecture that can be seen for miles from the seat of behind the main dark wood desk. It's like some sci-fi corporate scenario, possibly a view of a dystopian future, but the area where everything is obscenely wealthy and perfect.
There are various seating areas, one, for business guests at the front of the room, near the door, and another towards the back in what would usually be a sectioned off part of the room, a private meeting room without the stuffiness of a long table. It has more of a theater feel, for those days where the top dogs want to sit down, smoke a cigar with a glass of brandy in hand while observing the latest business pitch on the giant flatscreen there.
Then, there is one other arrangement of black leather couches that can be found and these are positioned some distance in front of the executive desk, looking out over that wonderful cityscape. This is where the Capitalist can be found seated with that glass of brandy in hand that he got from the bar near the backroom. He's dressed in full business garb, posture erect, though somewhat relaxed all the same. One leg crosses over the other. He's looking out over the city below and yet there are moments where he's eyes glaze, as if lost in his own thoughts.
The mystery doors have become something of an obsession for Bravo, a place that she ventures when she has read something, or thought of something, or just sought a change of environment. She's been lucky, so far, that usually when she goes she's gotten to them first, never being the one to stumble unaware into someone elses dream.
But not this time, and the office was the last thing that she was expecting to walk into. When she arrives she at least looks like she dressed for something, in a floor length red dress, matching heels and her hair piled on top of her head. Draped over one arm is a white fur stole, and a small beaded purse is in one hand, like someone was planning to go out on the town....without the town. There is a pause, surprise flashing across her face as she looks slowly around the office, the windows, and then the man sitting sitting there. Without waiting for an invitation to join, or a directive to get out of his private space, she makes her way across the room. The purse and stole dropped on one part of a couch before she moves to that bar to make herself at home by hunting for a drink, still quietly intruding, but very visibly intruding at this point.
Once the Bravo steps foot into his fantasy, the Capitalist is alerted to her presence. The marble floors do nothing to muffle the sound of her heels clicking on their hard surface, thus drawing his attention to her with just a slight turn of his head. There were a few people that he was tolerant of. Not that he hated everyone else in this prison - The Facility - but with each awakening, while he may have fond memories of some of them from past lives, perhaps his true self isn't all that sociable and that part clicks on when he is here. Or maybe he rarely finds a soul who shares his beliefs and perhaps the one person who truly did was now gone.
The woman's fancy get-up doesn't go unnoticed, his eyes practically locked on that red dress on her entrance, before lowering to view what looks to be an expensive stole and purse that find themselves on the couch beside him.
Returning to his view and after taking a sip of brandy, he informs, "There's a bar on the inside of the office in the back. Next to the bathroom." Which is just as large and extravagant.
It looks expensive, and probably is, and is very much miles away from her bunny slippers from the first meeting. The dress itself looks expensive, or a very good knock off at the very least.
"Thank you." Bravo replies, turning to head towards the office, and to the bar inside it, with a brief stop along the way to be nosey at things in her path way. When she's retrieved herself a glass with whatever is available poured into it, she begins to make her way towards the windows to get a better view of the city beyond. The view itself seems to demand silent awe out of her for a few moments.
But, she's never managed to be quiet for long when there was someone around to listen to her talk. "Your view is better than my balcony is." She gestures towards it with the glass before moving to join him on the couch, legs crossing, "You thinking?"
If this world were real, the city outside of the window would look alive with color. One can almost envision floating automobile-like vehicles bumper to bumper in their specific lanes. That's how fantastical this futuristic city looks and yet, there was something familiar about it all. In the end, it just felt like an incredibly large metro with tall buildings of every size and shape, varying architectural designs. This setting doesn't quite match any of the Capitalist's own memories, though the closest to this vision is probably the one with the space station. If that.
"I'm always thinking." The Capitalist's words come out crisp in response to the question. This is followed by another sip from his glass. "Where were you thinking of heading out for the day?" There's the briefest of glances given her again, a nod of his head as if he's indicating her attire, but his gaze doesn't linger long.
There is a brief look at him, her expression curious as she tries to decide something, then she shakes her head, dismissing whatever questions nagged at her. "I was going to see if I couldn't..." She pauses, then licks briefly at her bottom lip before she back-tracks, and starts again. "I was thinking that I really wanted a place where I could go and drink, and dance..."
Which the admission causes her to look around his office, one corner of her mouth twitching upwards before she decides, "I guess this works." She lifts her drink, since she is, clearly, able to drink here. Marble floors are probably very nice to dance on, too. In fact, she seems to make a sudden decision at that, setting her glass down on the floor before she gets to her feet, holding a hand out towards him, palm up.
In the brief amount of time that the Bravo has known the Capitalist, he hasn't been overly friendly nor would one call him spontaneous. Then again, he's been mostly moody for the first few days after his awakening, and for good reason. That mood changed somewhat during their trip to the Noc, but he as taking on his old persona there, at the time.
He's not so much of a jerk that he dismisses everything she says and in fact, when he feels that it may be useful to him, the Capitalist can also be a good listener. But he did not link this desire of hers to dance to the invitation that she now extends to him, his gaze settled on her delicate palm.
The man might be in higher spirits than normal today, for there's usually a good chance that he'll reject such an offer. At this moment, however, he sits staring at the Bravo's hand, an intrigued yet faint smile on his lips, before he quickly downs the rest of his brandy then sets the glass aside so that he actually does accept the invitation, rising slowly to his feet. Conveniently, on the couch beside him was a remote control. After pressing a few buttons, the sound system in the office suddenly kicks in..... playing 80's music. Whatever affliction had affected the Facility had carried on into his Fantasy. This, of course, is followed by a groan of sorts. "I guess it'll have to do."
"Well...could be worse?" Bravo has absolutely no idea how it could possibly be worse, music wise. But since this was her brilliant idea she is going to cling to the positivity and imagine, for everything her little blank slate soul is worth, that the music is the most perfect thing. Even if it is not.
Once more, much like in the theater, she takes the hand and the lead, only this time she doesn't pull him that far behind her before she stops. Whatever pace the song happens to be she has her own ideas, taking his hand and putting it on her waist before her arms move around his neck, starting to do a very classic sway and step sort of dance. "I've discovered something, about myself. I find that I'm understanding a bit more about how being in this place endlessly can become maddening."
Despite his bouts of grumpiness, the Capitalist is no stranger to dancing. He threw a music festival once back in 2018, but even that was a memory. And while he tends to be a man who likes having complete control over everything, he seems content to allow her to lead, placing his hands where she directs him to and moving along to the melody. Luckily for them, the song playing isn't a quick paced one, and instead it's a cheesy love ballad.
Even though she places his hand at her waist, it feels more natural for him to wrap his arms around her back, hanging low around her waist. Though it's what she says that gets out a nod of agreement from him, "That's exactly how I feel. As horrifying as these memories may be, while you're living them, time progresses. You're doing something, making plans. Then the next day happens and you see whether your plans worked or not. And sure, while that can happen in this Hell that we're trapped in." There's a slow shake of his head, his eyes studying her face when he speaks, "It's just not the same. If there is anything or anywhere beyond this place, I need to find a way to get there."
The fact he wraps his arms around her seems to be accepted as a natural progression of dancing to cheesey love ballads from the 80s. The pace is slow, and she's already got her arms around him, so it is accepted without even a bat of an eyelash. It is comfortable, and a new experience to add to the growing list of memories she can, for the moment, claim as hers. Her firsts.
"I don't know if there is anywhere beyond this place...there has to be." Bravo replies after a moment, her brows furrowing briefly, replaying the words to herself, or perhaps something she'd said another time. "I know that we can't be just repeating the same day, over and over, because I do remember yesterday...and the day before. But the tomorrow that is coming, I just feel it is going to be more of the same. I wake, I get up...bathe, dress, maybe read something for a little while...get coffee. Either sit in the open and hope that I run into someone, listen to them remember things, watch how they behave to each other...or walk into one of these rooms."
"I like you, C." Bravo points out, one hand moving, fingers sliding down the collar of his jacket, "I like ...I guess Anette was the last name, I like her, too. I don't dislike anyone so far, even Dirk is just confusing more than anything. But I don't want to live like this, trapped in here. I want my own life, to be able to...experience things."
"How can there not be?" The Capitalist asks when she starts questioning whether or not there is a place beyond the Facility, though at the end, she comes to the same conclusion as he does. "We can't just be born in this place with nothing else out there. Where did we come from?" From his contemplative study of her features, his gaze lifts to look beyond her now and out into the cityscape once more. "This is how I imagine the world outside to be. Though I'm not going to fool myself to believe that I am correct, because this is perfection. And even I know that the world, any world, isn't perfect."
He moves in time with her, that slow steady sway. It almost feels like one of the last slow songs being played at a wedding and many of the guests had already retired for the evening, leaving behind the stragglers...
Thinking further of her dilemma, he stares down into her eyes, a serious glint is seen within his own. "I'm not going to say that what you experience in these memories will be pleasant. They will be far from it. But you'll feel like you had a purpose and that's what makes it harder to return here, where there is no purpose to our existance. Or that's how I feel." The mention of Anette, however, lifts one of his brows, "Anette is a wonderful woman." Here, his face turns to look off at the side, not quite looking out the window again, but rather through it, rather absently, being lost in his thoughts. "In all of her incarnations, I suppose. And as a person." Though he does have admit, his chin lifting slowly, "She feels that she belongs in this place and seems content to be here. And all I want it to set us both free... all of us, really."
"Exactly that...how can there not be." Bravo agrees, returning her arm to it's starting place around his neck, her attention returning to his face, watching him in return, even his profile when he looks back towards the window. "I know things...I feel...I think, that there is no way I'd know things if there was not a life before this. So I know that I had to have had memories once before, I had to. But this is what I have now, and I'm going to make what I can of it. But, yes."
Yes what? She just leaves that lingering for a moment, instead her hand moves to his face, trying to turn him away from that window watching for what she has to say next, "I think if you talked to her about it, about finding a way out, realizing that there needs purpose and forward progression. You might just be surprised about what she has to say." She then shrugs briefly, her hand returning to his neck once more.
"Now, right...Getting out of here, and finding the world outside. You have a lot more experience in this, and it'd be really pointless for me to repeat things you have all tried already. So instead I'll just say...I want to help." The expression that settles across her features at this statement is set, determined. "What hasn't been tried?"
The more the Capitalist thinks about the Bravo's words, the more it confirms in his mind that they did come from somewhere. "You wouldn't even know how to communicate with us now if you weren't taught to speak at some point." He then swallows hard, not liking this second idea that has been tossed around before, "They say this place could be Hell or Purgatory. I have to wonder if either of those words mean anything to you. Are those places truly universal?"
There's a deeper furrowing to his brow now when they continue to speak of Anette, "I tried talking to her about it recently. She was there when we tried to find a way out before, but I don't see how anyone could think that they belonged here. To think that they were being punished. I mean, if she believes she deserves to be punished, what about the rest of us?" Though he doesn't want to admit it, from what he's experienced and lived in his various lives, perhaps, he deserved to be punished as well, though his own ego would like to tell him otherwise.
However, his mood shifts from gravely serious to something slightly less so when the woman expresses her interest in helping him find a way out. "I don't know what else there is to do. We've tried breaking through walls, pulling out dispensers and monitors. Setting the place on fire. We know there's nothing behind where the television is now because there was no television there when we first got here." He then thinks further, "These new rooms are the latest editions, but..." And now his gaze returns to stare out of the window, "There is no life out there. If there was a way to escape into this world, it would be without a living soul still.. unless there's a way beyond what we can see."
"I know what they are...I found a copy of Dante's Inferno, I didn't get very far in it, though. But I grasp the concepts of them..." Bravo replies, glancing around, and although they are in this dream world office of his, it doesn't seem to matter, because she shakes her head. "I don't think we're in Hell or Purgatory. For one...if we were in those places, would you be able to find connections to others? Would you not be burning eternally? As terrible as it feels, it doesn't feel like Hell or Purgatory."
Which might simply be because she is only understanding the concepts from one source, and not her own lifetime of experiences. "But you're right. How could I speak, understand..know that this is red?" The red in question is her dress, which she waves a hand towards before she tugs at the front of his jacket again, "And that this is a suit jacket. These aren't concepts you're just...going to know without some reference points. So I think there is something...and somehow, we're going to find a way to get to it. Maybe these rooms are the answer...we were able to go through what felt like a vast amount of space on the Noc. But, what..maybe there's a way to get in here without it changing? Without it becoming...something."
"Oh right, you're a reader." The Capitalist murmurs as that fact alone tarnishes his theory. "I had thought that without even reading a book that you might've known what Heaven, Hell or Purgatory was. If anything," He starts, though his thoughts get muddled with various ideas. "I would have said that this felt more like Purgatory than anything due to the monotony of this whole place, but if it were Purgatory, why have us live these lives? That is where Hell makes more sense."
Then another thought comes to mind, "What if someone simply thought to be outside of this place, where would they end up? No space stations or offices or... wherever people are wanting to be. Nothing so vague as just 'outside', but more specific as in 'outside of this place'. Whatever this place is called." His shoulders lift into a shrug, "It's something to try, though we may fail to get the results we want without fine tuning our thoughts. Then, your suggestion is also interesting, even if it means constantly opening the door without a desire or idea in mind."
It's spoken off-handedly, her arms tightening around his neck before she leans in, resting her cheek against him, tone thoughtful as she continues, not about Purtagory or Hell, but about the rooms and the process. "It's possible, but have you ever tried to not think of anything? Your idea might be better, but I think that we should try them both. It's not like trying them can be any worse than not trying, right? It's at least...something to do. Progression, right? Even if all we do is cross that off the list then we've crossed it off the list and we can move to the next idea...and the next."
The conversation in itself is what holds most of his focus that at first the Capitalist doesn't realize that Bravo had pulled herself in so closely to him, but as his own head gears start to turn, there is just this reflexive action where his own hold on her tightens as well to mirror hers. He was far too much of a thinker, especially for those within this prison who would rather do anything but think. Those who would prefer to waste their times doing frivolous things.
Not that he's never done anything in the Facility out of pure enjoyment...
It's when he refocuses on the here and now that he feels that warm cheek pressed against him, taking in her scent at this closeness. The dialogue continues as if nothing is amiss, so the Capitalist treats it like that as well, speaking casually on the topic. "I'm not much of a meditator and it takes a while to clear my mind, so I may not be the best person to handle the task. But you're right, it is something to try." In fact, he can't help but feel impressed that she's showing this much interest in finding a way out. "You're one of the few who actually wants to do this. That I know of." There's a pause, before he says in a humored tone, "How do I know that you're not just playing me? That you're not just a mole in our midst?"
When someone says floral, it brings up a certain idea, something powdery, fake, or overly cloying. But the scent that seems to cling to her hair is floral in the way of night blooming flowers, hints of sandlewood and a dash of citrus. The lean into him is light, but steady, relaxed for her part, even when his arms tighten around her. While her cheek remains against him, and her arms neither loosen nor tighten, she seems focused on his voice when he gets back around to speaking, and thoughtful in the silence between questions, answers or shared theories.
"You don't." Bravo points out, laughing briefly at the question, "I might be a mole, but I don't think that I am....and I'm pretty sure that I'm not playing you. I really do want to do this..." She trails off for a moment, then tries to put her reasoning into words that make sense outside her own jumbled thoughts. "Like I said. I like you. You want to find a way out, and I want to help. Not just because you want out, even if that's part of the reason. I just, I don't want to be in here forever, either."
"You almost remind me of someone." The Capitalist murmurs in a quiet tone, still breathing in those subtle floral notes and allowing his eyes to shut for a moment. "She was someone I met on the space station, but she was a little different when she arrived here. A little wild. A little bold." His tone may hint that those last words spoken are exactly what reminds him of this other woman in relation to the Bravo. "Somewhat of a challenge. Or, better yet, challenger."
His hold on her tightens firmly now, but only for a brief moment. "I always knew she would be trouble and I sometimes get that vibe from you, but... I won't turn down assistance if you're truly willing to offer it." That general grip on her slowly begins to loose all together, but he doesn't quite release her just yet. "You're right though. The longer we stay here, the further into madness this place is going to drive us."
"Almost?" There is just a hint of amused curiosity at the phrase, but the fact he's speaking about the person in the past tense does make her refrain from any attempt at a witty response. Instead she states very simply, and very firmly, "I want to help."
She glances up at him, not loosening her hold on his neck thought, her brows lifting upwards just a fraction as she looks up at him, "We're going to find the way out, alright? I'm not going to give up if the next ten ideas don't work. We'll just regroup, and keep trying. There's got to be answers, and here's got to be a way out."
"Almost." He repeats the word. "Perhaps, it's because I have no other memories of you that my perception isn't colored in the same way that it was towards her. She was crazy in that incarnation that I knew her, but she showed me her vulnerable side. When she showed up here, it felt like a little game of intimidation and challenges. I believe that's what made her intriguing most of all."
His mind and his gaze seem to be elsewhere once again, an annoyed furrow to his brow, "I thought I'd heard her one day. Rollerskates. That's what she used to wear here. But when I opened my door to check, it was someone else entirely as far as I can tell." That may say all that the Bravo needs to know. Perhaps this rollerskate wearing dangerous type was no longer trapped here.
The rest of what is said slowly grasps at his attention, his eyes blinking briefly before he finally turns to look her in the eyes. Now it's his turn to act all amused, the way others seem to do whenever he brings up his own desire to break on out of here. There's a smile on his lips. "So when do you want to begin?" The music has ended by now, leaving them both standing there together in silence.
"Maybe that's it." Bravo agrees, "You have no impression of me but me, and what you see here...uncolored and unaffected by any previous encounter...so on and so on. Yeah, maybe that makes me special. I'm going to go with that making me special." Which seems to sort of amuse her, for a brief second. "I don't think I'm very intimidating, though. I don't really see the point in it, but....maybe there is a point to it."
It's a thought process that she could easily endlessly spiral down. Why is she the way she is. Why does one thing feel right, but another doesn't. Enough to drive a person mad if they start down that path. So instead she puts a stop to the thoughts to instead smile right back at him, focusing on the question that he asks, "We can start now, or after the next wake up if you want. Depends on how much time you think we'll both need, and have. I'm all yours."
It was difficult for the Capitalist to ever want to leave this room. This was the view that he had always wanted, or so he believed. The rest of the Facility had no views, there were no windows anywhere, so it's understandable that this place that he'd conjured up in his mind would possess a window as large it does.
There's a light laugh that escapes his lips now, that brow lifting once more, "You should be careful with what you say. I might get the wrong idea." Here, he finally drops his hold on her, hands sliding down her sides before pulling away entirely. "We could start tomorrow. I don't know when we'll all be forced to sleep, but I know where I want to spend the rest of my evening." If it's even night right now... who can tell! "Right here on that couch, probably with a full bottle of something or other to keep me company. And that view."
"Maybe it's not the wrong idea." Bravo points out, one brow lifting upwards for a fraction of a second before she just smiles at him, shoulders lifting upwards in a shrug. "But tomorrow then, whichever wakes up first can come get the other, and we'll start trying out the theories about these rooms."
Without his arms around her when she releases her own hold, she's able to step back without any difficulty. There is just a moment where she stands there, watching him before she glances back towards the couch. Instead of heading over to gather her things up she starts moving towards the office and the bar that hides inside it, "A bottle of anything as long as it is full?"
When given this freedom and his own desire to actually relax, the Capitalist works to loosen his tie before shrugging out of that suit jacket when his tie is left partially undone. At first, he's surprised that she's decided to stick around, but he's not about to complain. "Take your pick. The shelves are stocked with only the best." Walking towards the desk, he folds the jacket up neatly and sets it down there, even though he knows that when he wakes up again, he'll be back in his room and all of his clothing would have been put away.
"The last thing I'd want is for someone to waltz in accidentally while I'm trying to relax and have these final moments to myself." Nevermind that the Bravo is still here, but he makes no mention of her presence when he says this. "Even worse when they open their mouths to say anything." Removing Conrad Wellson's watch from his wrist, he sets this down ontop of his folded jacket before making his way to settle down into the couch once more.
Fully stocked bar. Nothing but the best. Anything she wants. Those are the kinds of choices that require a lot of thought, and then when no single thing comes up as being the winner, she just grabs two. One bottle of whiskey, and then a bottle of gin.
After returning to the couch she steps out of her heels, pushing them to one side of the couch, out of the way in case someone decides to wander around after consumption of the contents of the bottles. The bottles are held out towards him, letting him decide which one he wants before the second one is put down on the floor by the couch. Then she drops herself down onto the couch next to him, drawing her feet up onto it with her before she leans back, getting comfortable. "C?" She glances at him, fully aware that she might be breaking some rule about opening her mouth to say something. "What will you do when you get out?"
The Capitalist isn't opposed to either whiskey or gin, in fact, he's very familiar with the former from various lifetimes. So when she returns with her offerings, he almost immediately reaches for the whiskey. The old tried and true, but gin is just as good, so rather than go with the usual, he takes the other instead. The top is quickly removed, though rather than taking the first sip, he hands the bottle of gin over to her first. What a gentleman.
He kicks off his own shoes now, even if it's far more comfortable than what the Bravo was wearing on her feet this whole time. To add to the moment, he grabs at the remote once more, shifting through various 80's songs until he reaches a slightly more easy listening station. Something to lull him to sleep with eventually.
Even after she speaks up, asking him this question, the Capitalist doesn't seem to openly bristle. In fact, he has to think on his answer for a moment, then stating, "Hopefully, I've figured out who I wa-- who I am by then. If not, that would be the first thing on my agenda. Then? Live my life or try to rebuild it... I'm not sure why we're here and what we were pulled away from." It would be his turn to ask her the same question, but he can't see her doing anything else but what he had said that he, himself, would do. With how many different memories he has in his mind now, these are all reminders to him that after so many lifetimes, he has yet to scratch the surface on finding a way out of here.
"Thank you." Bravo accepts the bottle when it is held out to her, and she takes a rather large swallow off it with the very slightest of grimaces before she holds it back towards him.
The process of getting comfortable is watched with a bit of bemusement, for some reason him removing jacket, watch, shoes...it's all like watching a magician performing their greatest trick. But one thing is still there, and while he answers her question she reaches over, tugging at his already loosened tie to try and get it all the way off.
"I think why is a question that even if we've found a way out, and it hasn't been answered, that it'll drive me crazy until I get the answer. I mean, getting out is possibly the most important, but I'm curious why. Why are we here, why were we chosen....why no memories. Why, why, and then a whole lot more why." She shakes her head just a fraction, "One step at a time, though, right?"
The Capitalist can't help but laugh a little at that grimace on the Bravo's face after gulping down some of that gin. When the bottle is passed along, he takes in a much smaller sip. The kick is definitely felt, but he can savor that flavor all the more. "You might want to take smaller sips. Then it's not so bad." He follows this up with another of the same, just as he notices her leaning in closer to him, a hand extended to further undo his tie to remove it completely. While this catches him offguard, the surprise making him swallow more of the liquor than he had originally wanted, there's something alluring about watching a woman undress you. Even if it is just a tie.
It's his turn to hand the bottle back, if she so wishes to continue with it. "You're someone who is unafraid of anything aren't you? Either that or you're..." Then he remembers the image on her door, when his words slow thoughtfully, "Filled to the brim with confidence." Those door symbols, they really do mean something.
"As much as I'd like to rack my brain and try to remember who I was before this. Not these other lives that we've lived but our real lives, I just have a feeling that it will amount to nothing. But why? I mean, wouldn't our real memories start to return at some point?" This is what concerns him most. What if no other memories come to the forefront. What does that mean?
The tie issue is dealt with before she takes the bottle, the tie being folded semi carefully and draped over the back of the couch before she accepts the bottle. "Smaller sips..." She agrees, and tries that out, the smaller sip going down a little easier than the first. Then once more the bottle is passed to him, finishing the circle of bottle passing.
"Well...that is a curious thing, I'm afraid of things. Things make me nervous, or uneasy. But I don't let that stop me, because then..." She pauses, tilting her head a bit, "If I let the fear take over, then I'd just stay in a corner hiding my head forever. That doesn't sound fun at all."
It was just a tie, but then she reaches for the top buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them with a thoughtful frown. "Maybe? Something, maybe whatever that something is, that took the memories away in the first place needs to be reversed, or...solved. Maybe they are tucked away inside a little bottle somewhere, and we have to break the bottle. Maybe they can't return for whatever reason, yet."
At this point, he wouldn't be upset if she had let the tie spill to the floor haphazardly, but there is this look of respect in his eyes when he notices just how much care she takes of such a simple, yet probably expensive, silk fabric. Listening to her words and watching her in action makes for a fascinating window into the woman's mind. With that bottle returned to him, he doesn't take another sip from it, instead playing audience to the unbuttoning of his dress shirt. "Is this you getting over your fear?" He asks, head tilted slightly, his eyes lifting to meet with hers even as she focuses on that button. "Now I'm curious what it is that you want... besides what some might consider the obvious."
He's not going to stop her if she wants to help him relax more by removing every article of clothes that he's wearing, but it's intriguing all the same. "In time, I'm sure we'll receive more clues, but then we'd still be playing this game the way that our Overseer wants us to play it. And by then, who knows how long we would have been stuck in this place. It's maddening really."
"Maybe." Those are very interesting buttons, and require a lot of focus to get them unbuttoned. When she runs out of them, though, she looks back up, "What do I want?" The question is given possibly a lot more weight than he intended for it to be given, because she has a serious look on her face as she looks right back into his eyes. "I don't know what I want, honestly. That would require me to think further ahead than the next ten moves, and I'm just not really capable of that." There is just the slightest of a wry smile passing briefly across her lips before she counters, "What is it that you want, besides what some might consider the obvious."
Noticing that he's not drinking from the bottle she reaches for it to try and steal back from him for her own sip. Much like the buttons it seems a move to burn through nervous energy. Then she shakes her head just a bit, "We might be playing it the way they want, but maybe we aren't. Would it matter as long as the end result is freedom?"
"A woman of action. I can't complain about that." The Capitalist says, watching her lithe fingers work on each and every button with amused interest. Those eyes lifting once more after she is done to meet with hers. "Ever the spontaneous type. I gotcha. I'm someone who needs to make plans, follow a schedule. But sometimes, I'm not so uptight to simply go with the flow." At least, when he's in this mood, he can poke fun at himself, knowing just how uptight that he can be or atleast be perceived as.
The view of the cityscape was darkening, so at least in that part of the world, whereever it is, it's becoming night. He can only wonder if it's the same where they are. But as the sky darkens, many of the buildings and roadways light up. If the view looked impressive during the day, it was just as beautiful at night.
Shifting slightly, so that he's more facing her than facing the window. There's no asking on his part, but he draws her in close, wrapping an arm around her before he eases himself into a more relaxed position, lying prone along the couch and allowing her to rest against him. "What I want right now it to simply unwind and wash my cares away until the collective we suddenly lose consciousness and find ourselves back in our own rooms." Once more, he turns his attention back towards the window to admire the light show, once against dwelling on his own thoughts and daydreams.
"It's worked out so far." So far. There is always the possibility that the next time she steps wrong, and it all blows up in her face. Which might not stop her or change the behavior that seems to come so naturally to her. "I like plans, too. They've all got their time and place."
No asking, maybe, but she doesn't seem against the arm around her, adjusting when he moves into a more relaxed position. She once again settles her cheek against him, an arm tucked around him before she relaxes, a very soft sigh slipping past her lips. Instead of turning her attention to the window, she lets her eyes close, finally seeming to cease the need to fill the silence with words or action.
Sleep usually hits them when they least expect it. Or, so the Capitalist was made to believe because he can never really remember falling asleep for the night. But perhaps the lull of the easy listening station mixed with the liquor and just the comfort of being this close, physically, to someone again does bring out this relaxing sensation.
With her arms wrapped around him, feeling the warmth of her embrace and taking in that soft floral scent again, he rests an arm comfortably around her, inhaling deeply. It's as if he can feel sleep coming over him, but he's doing all that he can to fight it off if only to not lose sight of that city view or the comfort of this moment.