Sure. Just like everyone and their cousin. It was the perfect cover for something unfriendly, it was a cover she herself had used once before.

"Yes. I do, actually. That's quite literally the entire nature of who I am, Wayland."

KING WAYLAND

"It's the nature that was given to me, what I had to become to survive. It's what I am, what I always will be."

And all of her attempts to run from it, to hide from it, to tear it down, to change - to stop running? It all fell away the moment she got too comfortable. It all turned sour eventually, with a knife to the back or a bullet pressed to her temple. Sometimes her own gun.

"It's only exhausting being right."

KING WAYLAND

Emma's brows furrow and she doesn't look up even as drinks are set before her. The an across the small table has her full attention to the point she is unabashedly rude to anyone else around her.

"You're not painting a very convincing picture, yourself."

He allowed himself to indulge, to enjoy, to participate in the world and allow himself to open up to others. But was that even true? The man she looks at now feels like a falsehood, a mirror image of herself only slightly distorted.

"Are you happy?"

KING WAYLAND

No, he wasn't. Most people weren't. They just lied and convinced themselves over and over that they were happy, or that what was just around the corner would bring them peace. But it was a lie - and that corner never stopped turning. It was a spiral staircase, exhausting and difficult to climb. It had no end, no ceiling, no promise of a happy ending.

All it had was the uncanny ability to make people sick.

But his honesty strikes a chord in her and forces her silent. It strips her of her confidence, of the high ground she sets herself upon. His words cut deep because they are the same ones she's chosen to recite over and over to others.

Don't try, just be- better.

And here she was, refusing to take her own advice. What sort of example did she make?

Emma's silence speaks volumes, and the woman's gaze pulls away from King's distaste for her to settle on the room. She looks without seeing, thoughts run rampant through her mind.

KING WAYLAND

This time, the silence between them is deafening. It leaves her cold and agitated, prepared to leave. But if she ran, it wouldn't get her anywhere. Chances are, he'd hunt her down anyway.

Her tumultuous thoughts are dispersed with the smell of food as its sat before her. Eggs and bacon and toast, steaming potatoes and gravy. She glances over in all in barely-veiled awe.

It reminds her of..

King speaks, breaking the spell. She glances up at him and then exhales, before helping herself.

KING WAYLAND

Emma's golden eyes linger a moment longer, sharp in their scrutiny of his excitement, of his ability to be so natural and carefree. Like the world doesn't rest on his shoulders, or that he's able to set it aside for just a moment to enjoy himself.

Knives and forks squeak quietly against the plate in his plunder, and she slowly follows the motion with her own, more methodical attention. She lifts mouthfuls to her lips slowly, lifts her attention from her plate to meet his - finding only his half-full and his grace misplaced.

"It's good."

But it's really good. It is warm on it's pathway down because she lets herself enjoy it. She chews slowly, purposefully, holding onto it longer. She just doesn't admit that out loud.

"Hm."

KING WAYLAND

The louder he eats, the faster she loses her appetite. Eventually, as she watches the man suck back his glass of water, she nudges her plate closer to him.

"Gavin used to."

She leans back, wraps her fingers around her own glass of water and sips slowly.

"'Normal' has never been something I participate in."

KING WAYLAND