The genteel gleen of the Insectarium's wooden dancefloor made for the perfect backdrop of two lonesome spirits. Together, they began to descend into dance, allowing the warm strings beckon forth a proper waltz from their intricate steps. Without offering the slightest hint or indication, Felix seized control of their movements, leading their dance with ease becoming of his experience.

"What would you allow me to do with it?"

A direct question and direct callback to their time spent huddled around that grave.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

The delicacy of her appearance didn't phase him. Felix had grown far too familiar which the ways Elisabeth concealed her intentions, how she sweetened her words, and how she drew people in. Dog-snack-sized pieces of affection-- that's how he thought of it now. It was why, while his steps began languid and smooth, silk tracing the floor with natural elegance, they grew tightened and rough, like an instructor looking to slowly break their student, piece by piece, step by step.

"I don't believe that."

Harsh words bore back to her. With one elegant push of his arm, he sent her twirling away once more, only to pull her back in, as if there were no other place to be than within his orbit.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

The man's exposed lips, which up until then kept untouched by the darkness clouding his eyes, pulled itself tautly.

Her words held an indescribable strength to them. Like a feather made up of lead, it fluttered onto his shoulders with such grace, he hadn't expected the burdensome weight it had released onto him.

"It's hard to be."

Another small confession to his identity and another call back to their time spent together, debating back and forth on the possibilities she discards for herself.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

"Or do you suspect what I want is something you can't give?"

Her words stung far worse than Elisabeth likely realized. Grappling the wound with a terse twirl, Felix used his pull to push them along with the dance, encircling the dance floor with long exaggerated movements.

"Because what you want," he began, voice slowly dipping into a grave growl, "hurts you."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

The venom of her words was lost to the speed to which they graced the dance floor. Try as she might to weaken his stance, the man easily swallowed down her quickened movements and brisk, sharp steps, his experience bleeding through as it had when they'd both encircled the ice together. Back when their pulse had felt tethered to the rush of adrenalin they'd experienced with each lap around.

"I could never judge you," he clarified, his mellow tone instant on remaining as it was. Unwavering the torrent of heat it had unexpectedly set ablaze. "And I don't know what's best. Not for anyone."

He paused.

"I just wanted to help. I still do."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Elisabeth was far from a damsel in distress.

She was a strike of lighting; brilliant strike of power with the impossibility of fully pinning down. Since the beginning, the two had watched each other grow within the organization, shedding their feathers one by one, until neither were the expendable pieces of flesh Rocket originally enlisted them to be.

Hand cradling the crook of her back, Felix continued leading them further into their dance. His expression remained unfazed by her fearsome scorn.

"Why can't I want to help you," he asked, ignoring all else. "There is no part I want to play; I already know I'm not a hero. All I want is to be able to help you."

He breathed, heavy.

"but you make it impossible."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

Again with the questions.

Where was the simplicity of the standard ask and you will be answered format he was used to?

But...why did he want to help her? Normally, under most circumstances, Felix was one to keep to himself. Even if it meant the mutual benefit of both parties, it always felt easier to focus on oneself and their goals than go around meddling with others. Most people were dead weight to him, anyways.

But not Elisabeth Fiorelli. Never her.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, "I just do."

To her next question, he could only blink in response; did she need really need a reason to accept his help?

"Why shouldn't you?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli