She waves her fingers, shooing the notion off. It hardly mattered, and she is far more pleased that he is playing along. "As if something like that mattered to me, Admiral."
Instead - since she's here, being informal, for all the trust he had given her in telling her the truth of who he was, his past, what had happened to him, she repays it in turn, being herself without the trappings - she goes about clearing them some space on the floor. Twisting her body about to plant one bare foot against the lounge and giving it an almighty push out of the way. It goes with the shove and she settles back, smiling, trickling laughter in through her words. Though this time, she sits far more - decidedly. Her back goes straight, her chest lifts, her legs curl under her delicately so they lay in the say direction. Then she fishes for the material that was draped over her shoulder, bringing it up over her head, resting to drape around her, over her hair. Poised like she were a dancer as fine as the ones her husband once employed.
"But the performance will be for you. So it doesn't matter in any case." She's planning it, apparently. Already working through the motions of how it will be done in some fitfully daydream that winning will be as easy as that. It won't be, they both know that, but the doors are shut, her rebels drink with his crew and it is just them. So maybe, for a little while, as long as no one else knew, it might be forgiven. "We prize beauty, art, colour, all these things. Like you said, tradition." She smiles as she goes, reaching over to fill his glass up in turn.
"But some of it will be strange to you." Definitely, definitely still mischief in her gaze. Settling the bottle back down and sliding it back towards him. "We dance with our eyes, our limbs, each finger and our expression as all one movement, whether they are love songs, songs praising great battles or religious." Her body lowers with the movement, pointedly so, her eyes rising up under her lashes to look at him. Fixed on him exactly, smiling softly. Then rises herself up in one slow motion to demonstrate the control into the movement. "No doubt, for you, it will all be battle songs and love songs. They will touch your feet to bless you and then - "
Her head turns away, and sweeping palm up against her cheek, then peering back at him. Like a lover teasing her beloved her gaze, then drawing her fingers below her eyes as she looks at him. Trying her best to keep a straight face through it all. She knew she wasn't a particularly great dancer. But she enjoyed it, and that was enough. Besides, it only had to be enough for him to know when one of her ladies was flirting with him.
no subject
Instead - since she's here, being informal, for all the trust he had given her in telling her the truth of who he was, his past, what had happened to him, she repays it in turn, being herself without the trappings - she goes about clearing them some space on the floor. Twisting her body about to plant one bare foot against the lounge and giving it an almighty push out of the way. It goes with the shove and she settles back, smiling, trickling laughter in through her words. Though this time, she sits far more - decidedly. Her back goes straight, her chest lifts, her legs curl under her delicately so they lay in the say direction. Then she fishes for the material that was draped over her shoulder, bringing it up over her head, resting to drape around her, over her hair. Poised like she were a dancer as fine as the ones her husband once employed.
"But the performance will be for you. So it doesn't matter in any case." She's planning it, apparently. Already working through the motions of how it will be done in some fitfully daydream that winning will be as easy as that. It won't be, they both know that, but the doors are shut, her rebels drink with his crew and it is just them. So maybe, for a little while, as long as no one else knew, it might be forgiven. "We prize beauty, art, colour, all these things. Like you said, tradition." She smiles as she goes, reaching over to fill his glass up in turn.
"But some of it will be strange to you." Definitely, definitely still mischief in her gaze. Settling the bottle back down and sliding it back towards him. "We dance with our eyes, our limbs, each finger and our expression as all one movement, whether they are love songs, songs praising great battles or religious." Her body lowers with the movement, pointedly so, her eyes rising up under her lashes to look at him. Fixed on him exactly, smiling softly. Then rises herself up in one slow motion to demonstrate the control into the movement. "No doubt, for you, it will all be battle songs and love songs. They will touch your feet to bless you and then - "
Her head turns away, and sweeping palm up against her cheek, then peering back at him. Like a lover teasing her beloved her gaze, then drawing her fingers below her eyes as she looks at him. Trying her best to keep a straight face through it all. She knew she wasn't a particularly great dancer. But she enjoyed it, and that was enough. Besides, it only had to be enough for him to know when one of her ladies was flirting with him.