[Keep it down she does. It isn't so terrible in smaller quantities, and really the taste wasn't the problem so much as the unfamiliarity- that and it just not tasting like she had imagined it was having been a bit shocking. As is, she doesn't reply at first, staring off vaguely to the side again without quite realizing she was doing it.
Just like aboard the Asterion prison... a certain sharpness was beginning to show on her withers and shoulders, evidence of her kind's quick tendency to drop weight after even just a few days of less than ideal eating. She hasn't really left her stall much. Hadn't found much reason to... until Giorno had extended his invitation.]
It is about hospitality.
[Is what she says. But her happiest, most at ease time since joining ALASTAIR had been near here, beneath the trees, pleasantly drunk on Asgardian mead to the point that she could let herself forget, let herself feel simple joys in company and pride in her newfound status as a warrior pledged to a Prince such as she had found.
But this time... she worries even with similar conditions... that things have changed too much to recreate that one, beautiful day.]
[Sometimes it seems like nothing Hayame says is anything like what she means. Not in the way Giorno deflects, it's nothing like that. He isn't even sure she means to, but--]
[His eyes catch of the edge of her cup; he remembers how she insisted on a certain order of pouring, wanted a certain way of doing things before she so uncharacteristically let it go. She's so much the opposite of him, isn't she? Clinging to rules as fiercely as he clings to lawlessness, because to forget them would mean nothing made sense anymore.]
[Maybe he's projecting. He does that. But maybe that's why they struggle so much: because he hates and fears order as much as she craves it.]
[For a heartbeat, he bites his lip, then chooses his words carefully.]
. . . I wish I knew more of that. The rules of hospitality as you know them, I mean. I don't like making mistakes more than once; it's a waste of time.
[For half a second, Hayame almost smiles. Not a true expression of contentment or joy, but a bitter, twisted thing. A mockery of her pitiful situation and what had led to it. Already that day is not this one, and she feels a fool for even hoping it would be, could be. Though she had reluctantly acknowledged Giorno only because Ninurrta had, he still had not earned her vulnerability, and still she remains standing. He had seen her vulnerable, stumbling like a newborn filly in the hay, but that-]
It seems I am the only one who prescribes to them.
[But that was the root of it all, wasn't it? Even her lord's manners were different... but they'd been similar enough. Now... she has wine, and only awkward, unsuited words. Not because she necessarily was trying to intentionally be vague, but because in her own world.., she had never had a voice able to do anything but serve.
And now she is expected to use words for herself.]
[Little point to learning. He cocks his head at her, curious and confused. It doesn't make sense, but it does at the same time, obliquely. It's futile to pursue, that's how he interprets it; Hayame thinks it's useless to share, or even to expect anything from anyone here, because they are all so alien. Because they don't respect her customs. Because this is so different from her world.]
[Before Fugo got here, he felt alone. Afloat on a vast and incomprehensible sea. And even then, he had Kaz. How much more alone is Hayame right now?]
[Abruptly, he drains the rest of his glass and tips his chin up at her.]
Would it help you if you weren't the only one? Or do you prefer it this way?
She wants to laugh, but for now, the stiff mask of politeness, seriousness, stays on her face. But Hayame had been raised by humans, not her own kind, and while they had beat into her the lessons of human etiquette and made her school her human half to their expectation... her equine half slightly betrays her, one back hoof stamping in the grass.
Who wanted to be alone? Who relished in being an oddity, as the only one representing everything "Normal" in a world of the insane? Who wanted to be alone?]
Who says I require help?
[And who would answer a question like that, when to do so would so blatantly admit to weakness? To how much she longs to see another of her kind, to see the few she had grown to trust before it had all been ripped away?]
[The obvious answer. Her body language aside, the hostility's clear. He looks up at her and focuses on the lingering taste of wine on his tongue instead of the sudden spike of irritation.]
I asked because I don't want to put you off anymore. I hate it when I do. It would be nice to justify it as doing you a favor, because it's a hell of a lot easier than admitting I give a damn and want to do better.
We can just drop it if you want. We can talk about something else. Or nothing. Probably safest.
[No one, he says, but she heard what she expected to hear in his last question, and for a moment, it seems like she might dig her hooves in and make something of it.
Until she forces herself to drink more of the strange tasting wine.
She doesn't reply until she's sip-drank half of it, struggling to find the words to reply, to even decide what she thought of the words that had come out of his mouth. What was he saying? That he wished to... get along with her?]
Ninurrta is gone.
[Is what she says over the rim of her glass, waiting for his response to that reminder.
Wanting to know why he would wish to still have anything to do with her, now that that single tie that had connected them was gone.]
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no subject
Just like aboard the Asterion prison... a certain sharpness was beginning to show on her withers and shoulders, evidence of her kind's quick tendency to drop weight after even just a few days of less than ideal eating. She hasn't really left her stall much. Hadn't found much reason to... until Giorno had extended his invitation.]
It is about hospitality.
[Is what she says. But her happiest, most at ease time since joining ALASTAIR had been near here, beneath the trees, pleasantly drunk on Asgardian mead to the point that she could let herself forget, let herself feel simple joys in company and pride in her newfound status as a warrior pledged to a Prince such as she had found.
But this time... she worries even with similar conditions... that things have changed too much to recreate that one, beautiful day.]
no subject
[His eyes catch of the edge of her cup; he remembers how she insisted on a certain order of pouring, wanted a certain way of doing things before she so uncharacteristically let it go. She's so much the opposite of him, isn't she? Clinging to rules as fiercely as he clings to lawlessness, because to forget them would mean nothing made sense anymore.]
[Maybe he's projecting. He does that. But maybe that's why they struggle so much: because he hates and fears order as much as she craves it.]
[For a heartbeat, he bites his lip, then chooses his words carefully.]
. . . I wish I knew more of that. The rules of hospitality as you know them, I mean. I don't like making mistakes more than once; it's a waste of time.
no subject
[For half a second, Hayame almost smiles. Not a true expression of contentment or joy, but a bitter, twisted thing. A mockery of her pitiful situation and what had led to it. Already that day is not this one, and she feels a fool for even hoping it would be, could be. Though she had reluctantly acknowledged Giorno only because Ninurrta had, he still had not earned her vulnerability, and still she remains standing. He had seen her vulnerable, stumbling like a newborn filly in the hay, but that-]
It seems I am the only one who prescribes to them.
[But that was the root of it all, wasn't it? Even her lord's manners were different... but they'd been similar enough. Now... she has wine, and only awkward, unsuited words. Not because she necessarily was trying to intentionally be vague, but because in her own world.., she had never had a voice able to do anything but serve.
And now she is expected to use words for herself.]
no subject
[Before Fugo got here, he felt alone. Afloat on a vast and incomprehensible sea. And even then, he had Kaz. How much more alone is Hayame right now?]
[Abruptly, he drains the rest of his glass and tips his chin up at her.]
Would it help you if you weren't the only one? Or do you prefer it this way?
no subject
She wants to laugh, but for now, the stiff mask of politeness, seriousness, stays on her face. But Hayame had been raised by humans, not her own kind, and while they had beat into her the lessons of human etiquette and made her school her human half to their expectation... her equine half slightly betrays her, one back hoof stamping in the grass.
Who wanted to be alone? Who relished in being an oddity, as the only one representing everything "Normal" in a world of the insane? Who wanted to be alone?]
Who says I require help?
[And who would answer a question like that, when to do so would so blatantly admit to weakness? To how much she longs to see another of her kind, to see the few she had grown to trust before it had all been ripped away?]
no subject
[The obvious answer. Her body language aside, the hostility's clear. He looks up at her and focuses on the lingering taste of wine on his tongue instead of the sudden spike of irritation.]
I asked because I don't want to put you off anymore. I hate it when I do. It would be nice to justify it as doing you a favor, because it's a hell of a lot easier than admitting I give a damn and want to do better.
We can just drop it if you want. We can talk about something else. Or nothing. Probably safest.
no subject
Until she forces herself to drink more of the strange tasting wine.
She doesn't reply until she's sip-drank half of it, struggling to find the words to reply, to even decide what she thought of the words that had come out of his mouth. What was he saying? That he wished to... get along with her?]
Ninurrta is gone.
[Is what she says over the rim of her glass, waiting for his response to that reminder.
Wanting to know why he would wish to still have anything to do with her, now that that single tie that had connected them was gone.]