[ the glass remains by her lips, hovering just a hair's breath away from full contact, frozen in place when he starts to speak. she hadn't expected him to give her much — this wasn't like the chapel, forced into a small space with little else to do but trade confessions to pass the time — but she's no less welcoming of it when he gives.
like that day in the chapel, she tries again to picture his world. dark and bright at the same time, some advanced technological colony on a different planet, different moon. she can't help but picture hover cars, bright neon lights and aliens of different shapes and sizes. she doesn't even know how much of those would be accurate, if any at all.
somehow, picturing him with a sister (younger, she assumes, from the protective, familiar way his words curl around that word) feels the greater feat. ]
Temporary, [ she repeats, as if putting more voice to it will make it any more real. as if any of them are any closer to figuring this all out and getting out of there. she lets herself smile at the thought, holding the glass back out again to lift in a toast. she can drink to that. ]
[ he doesn't need to share in anything, nothing compelling or making him obligated to say more than he intends to, but her talk of smells summons the memory on its own, a draw to the past miles and years away from where they are. except in his case, he knows there's no return to it, that those nights in harlan's world with his sister as she was died long before she did. that part can be left out of his story.
it seems to help whatever tension it is that marta's holding from the stress that's placed her, at least, as he catches the perk of a smile as she takes to the drink. ]
Salud.
[ he repeats, following her approach to the toast as he raises his own glass to mirror hers, and downing the rest of the drink in it with relative ease. with a lick of his lips, his eyes peer at the single remaining drop of liquid at the bottom of the cup before reaching back for the bottle. ]
Until then, you might wanna ease up on all the window climbing. Can't let you get in the habit of all these late night calls.
[ his light admonishment punches out a short huff of laughter from marta — almost a chuckle, if there were any more mirth to it. ]
I'll keep it to a more reasonable hour next time.
[ from the wryness of her tone, it's clear she's hoping just as much as he likely is that there is no next time. as surprisingly pleasant as the evening turned out being, she's hardly the type of person to impose herself on someone else if she can help it.
all this to say — she isn't looking to wear out her welcome. one last deep swig of the remaining contents of her glass and then she's pushing herself up onto her feet, dragging her blanket a little more firmly around her shoulders. his room is an exact mirror opposite to hers — she's got an exact duplicate of this drawer pushed up along the same wall that would lead into the bathroom, but notably without the bar crafted on top of it.
this she approaches, reaching out to set her empty glass right there where it had been prior to his pouring. there, her gaze snags on a neatly folded handkerchief, its embroidered letters tucked away into its folds as if on purpose. the corner of her mouth draws up, amused despite herself. ]
Try not to stay up too late. You wouldn't want to miss breakfast, [ she says, with the same sort of seriousness as he had his own words. (that is to say, none at all.) she leaves the handkerchief where it rests, moving instead to tug open the bathroom door. thankfully, it opens to the right place. ]
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no subject
like that day in the chapel, she tries again to picture his world. dark and bright at the same time, some advanced technological colony on a different planet, different moon. she can't help but picture hover cars, bright neon lights and aliens of different shapes and sizes. she doesn't even know how much of those would be accurate, if any at all.
somehow, picturing him with a sister (younger, she assumes, from the protective, familiar way his words curl around that word) feels the greater feat. ]
Temporary, [ she repeats, as if putting more voice to it will make it any more real. as if any of them are any closer to figuring this all out and getting out of there. she lets herself smile at the thought, holding the glass back out again to lift in a toast. she can drink to that. ]
Salud.
no subject
it seems to help whatever tension it is that marta's holding from the stress that's placed her, at least, as he catches the perk of a smile as she takes to the drink. ]
Salud.
[ he repeats, following her approach to the toast as he raises his own glass to mirror hers, and downing the rest of the drink in it with relative ease. with a lick of his lips, his eyes peer at the single remaining drop of liquid at the bottom of the cup before reaching back for the bottle. ]
Until then, you might wanna ease up on all the window climbing. Can't let you get in the habit of all these late night calls.
no subject
I'll keep it to a more reasonable hour next time.
[ from the wryness of her tone, it's clear she's hoping just as much as he likely is that there is no next time. as surprisingly pleasant as the evening turned out being, she's hardly the type of person to impose herself on someone else if she can help it.
all this to say — she isn't looking to wear out her welcome. one last deep swig of the remaining contents of her glass and then she's pushing herself up onto her feet, dragging her blanket a little more firmly around her shoulders. his room is an exact mirror opposite to hers — she's got an exact duplicate of this drawer pushed up along the same wall that would lead into the bathroom, but notably without the bar crafted on top of it.
this she approaches, reaching out to set her empty glass right there where it had been prior to his pouring. there, her gaze snags on a neatly folded handkerchief, its embroidered letters tucked away into its folds as if on purpose. the corner of her mouth draws up, amused despite herself. ]
Try not to stay up too late. You wouldn't want to miss breakfast, [ she says, with the same sort of seriousness as he had his own words. (that is to say, none at all.) she leaves the handkerchief where it rests, moving instead to tug open the bathroom door. thankfully, it opens to the right place. ]