are they really all the same? is she just like every other? to think there's conflict in her beating heart at the realization, at the stubborn grinding of her heels into the ground. she should want to melt away into the faceless crowd. she should want him to care little of her.

but some of her devotion all that time came willingly. she looked up to him. it's pitiful she can't bear the thought of him looking down on her. 

"because you couldn't. you did what you thought best. maybe not what was right, but what was best. there's something to be said for that."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

the top half of her lips are somewhat obstructed by the mask (which makes drinking the champagne an unwelcome challenge, especially as she nears the bottom of the glass), but they still curl delightfully at his outer dialogue with himself. he mulls her information over and under the mask, with this (still, quite frankly, unbelievable) barrier between the two of them, she can ruminate in his obtuseness. 

how quick he is to accept that what is his best is the best move. 

she laughs through her "no."

she clicks her tongue, blue eyes glittering in the mask. "why, councilman silph, are you friends with current rocket members?"

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

while there's a new tantalizing sense of freedom behind her impenetrable mask, the same is a nuisance from fernando. granted, even without the mask on, he's always been impossible to read. she'd picked up on some of his quirks after working so closely with him, but never enough to dig the truth out of him. no, never that.

"presumably," she agrees. 

"and no. why in the world would anyone attack a primal point? i already said i'm not rocket."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

she cocks her head. had she argued thus? the insight into fernando's close circle, the ideas that they've fielded him, is somewhat startling. she has no doubt in her mind that he cares little of giving away these testimonies, shrouded in anonymity as they are. still, it gives everything a sort of...perspective. 

"mm, the victors write the history books," she says wryly. "no, i never argued against sparing sea!hoenn to save ourselves." 

she smirks. "here's a hint. i bit you once." will this end the game?

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

she used to deign herself a philosopher, but even here fernando has her beat. the words that fall from his confident mouth are laced with compulsion. even with their history, his charisma has her wrapped in that haze, whatever burnt, crisp anger she had to fuel her resolve is slowly reducing to ash. 

he stares at his glass and she takes another sip from hers. 

"yes," she says simply and then, showing teeth, "and yes. and yes."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

he has her figured out. the game is over and her mask of anonymity has been plucked away. her protective bubble has broken and she is still the same vulnerable woman before him, still seeking his approval for reasons unknown. 

nostalgia? self-loathing? humility?

but the points he brings up are not either or. they are one. they are all the things he's told her before, with his drawn stoicism and impassive, hard eyes. 

"do you know, then?" she pauses. "if you do, don't say it. then you've won your wager - my heart. we'll let the past stay forgotten." she offers up her hand to dance, her empty glass discarded on the table.

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

he does not allow her to run away. what's more frustrating is how many others seem to fit neatly into the imagine of herself. she never really was special to him, was she? what did it mean, then, when he came to her with those dark circles under his eyes, hoping for refuge and refuse when that thing in his arm was eating him alive? 

he likes his games though.

"i promised myself to you, yes."

a waiter comes to scoop their glasses and offers to fetch them new ones, but she shakes her head. "no, thank you. i think we'd rather dance."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉