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“More.”
Her perked ears catches Młynar’s gruff sigh. “…Miss Falcone—”
“More,” she slurs, adamant.
It is gone, Lavinia thinks, whatever carefully-crafted image that has always worn her with such ironclad integrity. Words are like clouds now: aimlessly floating and incoherent. Nothing like her head, her head feels so heavy that she does not try to fight it anymore.
There is a sudden thud, she jolts - relaxes as soon as it dawns that it is of her own doing. Oh, this is much better. A fruitful end to her predicament, if she must satiate. So comfortable.
“So…comfortable? Perhaps, this is an unnecessary struggle for you.”
Lavinia blinks up, head resting sideways on folded arms. He has lowered his newspaper. It is hard to pinpoint actually, if Młynar is looking right back at her. His hair is akin to cascades, a gentle yet formidable wall. It would be less obscure if he were to be an actual tree, towering as it sat in the midst of a high ceiling and enclosed space.
Time has passed inexplicably. They have sat next to each other from the moment she stumbled from Leontuzzo’s side and into an available seat.
What is he talking about - what was the last thing she said again?
“More.” Just in case, those golden irises are merciless daggers towards hers, “If you, if you will.”
There is a rustle, a flick of turned pages. Młynar recites and Lavinia expectedly listens. “The council has launched outreach programs, initiatives aimed at fostering a sense of assurance that the council’s efforts are aligned with needs and aspirations of the people. Kazimierz is to prosper as a hub of innovation, all eyes are eager to witness…”
Warm. Downy. Yes, this is comforting. This is…preferable, to dry eyes and the quiver in Leontuzzo’s voice. Rubio is an inevitable topic. Her blunt nails drag across her forearm.
She is far from being a complete fool, yet not a complete saint either. Kazimierz has its history and the Pegasus beside her holds a reputation to his name. “I have heard tidbits of, of…” ah, her tongue will not roll as it usually does, “of your heroism. During, your latest dispatch.”
“Maria,” he says, line of sight moving along words upon sentences, “she talks of me?”
Names, names, Lavinia ponders. The table is still filled to the brim with delicacies. She thinks she catches Matterhorn chewing and grimacing at the far end, the Vulpo kids making passes and runs, Popukar ever so timid on their tails. More names.
She can recall a ‘Maria’ but - “She introduced herself as Zofia.”
Młynar does not immediately respond this time. Takes his seconds to fold the newspaper back to its initial state. “Heroism, huh? My cousin enjoys a good fairytale.”
“More.” Again, another, she vaguely gestures at him then herself. “Voglio…I, I am intrigued. To hear all.”
“Is that so?”
Lavinia hums, thinks that it must not be enough. She nods and yawns, not at all ginger, cheek against her arm.
“To think that I am capable of boring somebody to sleep,” he says into the silence. Not really - not even remotely close. The whole landship is in festivities, it is rowdy and it is so lively, and the waters beneath them quake in changing tides.
Boring, no, it is - “Lulling. I believe,” someone shouts her codename from somewhere; she is glued, “lulling is a befitting word for…this.”
Maybe it is a trick of the bright lights, hitting her eyes so precise like this. Młynar’s lips curl, something close to a smile. An unconventional scene, as she was previously told. Lavinia blinks, unhurried. “Rest, Miss Falcone. Days like this are scarce enough for the fortunate.”
One last attempt. “More?”
There it is again. Unconventional. Warm though.