[ Root doesn't like soft things, so she adores Clea's resulting smile. She's drawn to anything she can't easily explain that's also sharp enough to cut her if she isn't careful. It's the danger, but also the intellectual wonder. Not just mysteries for the sake of being mysterious, but something tangible and real that she can play with yet can't quite control, not just something to be turned over in her mind.
Then Clea compliments her back, and it's a direct demonstration of how she manages to surprise her. Root is not naturally shy -- she doesn't exactly break eye contact -- but she deals with her resulting emotions by putting on a show under Clea's direct scrutiny. She straightens from where she was leaning against the table and reaches up, pulling the hair sticks out of her hair that keep her chignon in place. With a quick shake of her head, the waves of hair fall around her. Everything is done with the smoothness of someone who inhabits their body utterly, every inch possessed willfully.
Her dress is revealed to be two deceptive pieces when she reaches in at the waist to slyly draw out a tiny handgun she'd been concealing. She leans to the side and places it on the desk with a soft clink. ]
I bet you say that to all the girls.
[ She knows, of course, that she doesn't. ]
I found someone, [ she confesses. ] She can see everything in me, every potential. And she thought in there was something good.
[ Grey eyes remain focused on the other woman, watching her movements with undisguised interest, the way her hair cascades down her shoulders, the precise motions that Root is taking to make it fall so sweetly. She's been given a show, and peeling back the layers to get a look at the performer results in a deeper appreciation: To know that everything Root does is deliberate and an attempt to provoke a reaction in Clea. Root is trying for her. It warms Clea's heart - and other parts.
How lovely.
Clea raises an eyebrow when Root places the handgun on the desk. ]
Ah, so it was a gun. I thought you were just happy to see me.
[ A jest, lobbed in return for Root's. She can tell Root is happy to see her and she doesn't require reassurance. Clea listens to Root's confession as seriously as any priest does a congregant's confessions, holding the sentences in her mind as though they are made of ceramic, delicate and worthy of being handled with care.
This is not something that Root would tell most people. ]
I am pleased to hear that, though I hope you eventually come to believe that about yourself internally.
[ Relying on someone else for one's sense of self-esteem is not a good practice to get into. ]
Mmm...you didn't come here to ask me to help you move in with her, did you?
[ Root laughs both at the bad joke and at the idea that she'd be moving in somewhere with the Machine. One of the things she does best for her is be ready to go anywhere on Earth at a moment's notice, and she knows it -- takes pride in it, what she can do for her as her analog interface. ]
I really haven't gone domesticated, I swear.
[ But she is certainly trying for Clea. Root spends most of her life acting a part of some kind, and she doesn't mean that in a self-pitying way. She arranged things like that; she'd sought it out, because she's good at it. She just doesn't get to often turn that skill to coaxing reactions out of someone she likes on a personal level.
It's gratifying to do. It feels... sweet, when she is rarely sweet. ]
I don't hate myself, [ Root clarifies, voice easy, not trying to prove a point. Just explaining. ] I'm fine with being who I am. But there's not too many other people that feel the same way. [ She's a tough pill to swallow and she knows it, has always found herself lonely, always found other people eminently disappointing time and time again. ]
I got out of the killer for hire business. She wants me to help people, and I guess I am. That's what I'm doing now. Kind of crazy, right?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Then Clea compliments her back, and it's a direct demonstration of how she manages to surprise her. Root is not naturally shy -- she doesn't exactly break eye contact -- but she deals with her resulting emotions by putting on a show under Clea's direct scrutiny. She straightens from where she was leaning against the table and reaches up, pulling the hair sticks out of her hair that keep her chignon in place. With a quick shake of her head, the waves of hair fall around her. Everything is done with the smoothness of someone who inhabits their body utterly, every inch possessed willfully.
Her dress is revealed to be two deceptive pieces when she reaches in at the waist to slyly draw out a tiny handgun she'd been concealing. She leans to the side and places it on the desk with a soft clink. ]
I bet you say that to all the girls.
[ She knows, of course, that she doesn't. ]
I found someone, [ she confesses. ] She can see everything in me, every potential. And she thought in there was something good.
no subject
How lovely.
Clea raises an eyebrow when Root places the handgun on the desk. ]
Ah, so it was a gun. I thought you were just happy to see me.
[ A jest, lobbed in return for Root's. She can tell Root is happy to see her and she doesn't require reassurance. Clea listens to Root's confession as seriously as any priest does a congregant's confessions, holding the sentences in her mind as though they are made of ceramic, delicate and worthy of being handled with care.
This is not something that Root would tell most people. ]
I am pleased to hear that, though I hope you eventually come to believe that about yourself internally.
[ Relying on someone else for one's sense of self-esteem is not a good practice to get into. ]
Mmm...you didn't come here to ask me to help you move in with her, did you?
no subject
I really haven't gone domesticated, I swear.
[ But she is certainly trying for Clea. Root spends most of her life acting a part of some kind, and she doesn't mean that in a self-pitying way. She arranged things like that; she'd sought it out, because she's good at it. She just doesn't get to often turn that skill to coaxing reactions out of someone she likes on a personal level.
It's gratifying to do. It feels... sweet, when she is rarely sweet. ]
I don't hate myself, [ Root clarifies, voice easy, not trying to prove a point. Just explaining. ] I'm fine with being who I am. But there's not too many other people that feel the same way. [ She's a tough pill to swallow and she knows it, has always found herself lonely, always found other people eminently disappointing time and time again. ]
I got out of the killer for hire business. She wants me to help people, and I guess I am. That's what I'm doing now. Kind of crazy, right?