Fingers absently traced imaginings against the table, eyes focused on those golden hues behind that mask. A mask meant a lot of things, hiding–be it from identification, everyone else, or disfigurement, it meant something and he couldn’t help but to be caught on the fact she insisted on covering her face. Of course, he could theoretically find a way to ask her without being inherently direct, but then the question would leave infinite space for maneuvering around.
He smiled, this time with less caution. The veteran had always had the softness in him that allowed for chances with even the most unsavory seeming types unless his gut instinct and empathic ability told him otherwise. He seemed rather interested as she explained her first venture into work and curiosity prickled in his gut. There was so much more than he knew then, but he did not want to appear to thirst for information.
“How intriguing. I’m afraid my youth was not so eventful.” he chuckled and the force of his personality made him seem so lively and relaxed even with all that caution lying just beneath the surface. Only a keen eye could tell there was so much more than an ordinary man sitting there.
“Ah…” he hummed, considering her question. What a question it was. And it was relatively easy to answer. “I’m…no. I’m not. I’m a man who has lived such a life that he cannot fathom the idea of domesticity, which is how I now live. To live an ordinary life is not something I can comprehend. I feel restless in my bones and have forgotten the sense of normality and comfort that most live their daily lives in; working, marrying, bearing children and growing old. I don’t fit the mold I used to idolize any more. How sad it is when you finally grasp your childhood dream only to find it is no longer the dream you want.”
He gave a soft laugh and a shake of his head that was just enough to toss some of his dark tresses around. Then he thought over what to ask Fina.
“Well…hm. I suppose bouncing off of your question…if you are unsatisfied with what you have, then what is your ideal life? I used to think my ideal was marriage and children, but I believe now that I wish to do something that is more impactful to the world and the way of things as a whole. In a positive way, of course.”
The rigidity of her composure belied the ease she felt before him. She enjoyed their bout of wit like a rousing match of chess, letting her see beyond appearance and into cognition. The fire that lit his eyes was the subject of her interests and the reason for her sudden introduction. Naturally, he kept his calm as any soldier should she supposed.
Fina wondered if his expressions were honest or whether they were completely honest more rather. He appeared to her a guardian of sorts, protective of ideals or those precious to him. She fed him the crumbs of her tale and watched the way he reacted or failed to do so. Every motion of one’s body was telling, so she always kept hers guarded. It was better to appear constrained than let one’s heart lie open for all to see. If they wished her heart, one sat embroidered on her sleeve.
His smile was bright, genuine. It was not an expression she often saw directed at her these days. What did he find so intriguing as to do so when he had such notes of reticence beforehand? Perhaps he held pity for her, or was the preferred word sympathy? Tragedy itself may yet be uncommon in these parts or times. Maybe, he simply held an unyielding compassion as she expected.
Her lids fell further still as he recounted his response, half meditating on his life and partly on her own. The sense of belonging, she suspected, was what he had lost. Normalcy, a word that meant something similar to many and yet differed for her and him. After what their lives brought, what was their sense of the everyday, their milieu? Death lingered as a shadow to every living thing. The commonplace became transient and infinitely more valuable, more distant. Yet, here Maurice was, with what he dreamed only to find that he was what had changed. She’d liked to say she knew the same, but she did not of course. Domesticity waited for her beyond the grave or might as well have.
“The colors of fantasy and night terrors differ vastly from that which we see. When one has been more alive than another man who has never known death, what is that man’s normal life to him? I believe you at once closer yet farther from life than the common citizen of this city; and for that, you have my condolences. Still, is it not better than the alternative? More frightening still are the moments the idea comes to question.” Fina pauses to yet again drink from her cup. The soft sound of ceramic ended her drought, and the woman hummed in consideration of his next inquiry.
“My ideal life? I find myself asking that question time and again. With the wealth I’ve accrued, what can I do? To every hammer, a nail. To every rogue, a lock. To me? Enterprise. I can see no ideal life, only the shadow within my grave. Like you, I can’t entertain ideas of domesticity. I am far too acquainted with the dangers others ignore. I know the sounds of the night, and would I not be guilty to feign innocence? No... not sleep but death. Some long peace after my work is done, that is what I seek. Simple silence.”
Fina chuckled softly. “Forgive my words... more honest than perhaps I should admit. From the past, present, to the hypothetical now. If you were to choose your death, what would it be like? I find such somber questions quite telling. It shows how one views life. If you imagine yourself loved and surrounded by those precious to you, whose name comes to mind first? The next few? Don’t tell me you’ve never had such thoughts in your work.
“As for myself? With a quiet suddenness. When no goings on or other matters bother me, when my work is complete, I wish to leave without a sound or struggle. Clean and quiet without knowing. But I don’t deserve such kindness now do I? You must ask, why else do I wear a mask if there is not something to hide?”
