"If you want me to take it back..." Her grip around the neck of the bottle stays loose, but she doesn't actually make any move to take it away. She's not annoyed that he doesn't immediately accept her gift, but she does feel the way her lips purse just slightly. "Save it," she pronounces her judgement, letting her fingers fall away from the offering. "You can always use it to barter for something you'll like better." Though deep inside, she'll lament the loss of potentially good wine. C'est la vie.
That matter settled, she offers a shrug to his question. "Fine, considering. Nothing's burning down around me, and there isn't anyone trying to tear me apart, so I'd say I haven't much to complain about." Maybe the next time they find some place to dock, she'll stay aboard the ship. Maybe.
Odessa makes all his arguments for him, so Severus sees no reason to join in. She's got it covered. Maybe later when he feels less resentful of doing anything at all for other people he'll cook her dinner; pasta sauce or soup with the gifted wine, perhaps simmer or sear something else in it considering their new and likely temporary stores of real bloody food. Colonial stock promises to at least be different than the synthetic sewer-water the ship keeps in overwhelming supply.
"I rather meant your head," he says in his cold-water voice, finally looking up at her and not just things attached to the end of her arm. "Versus anything I obviously know already. Thranduil's announcement about the incident has effectively pardoned all involved."
As is just. Severus's opinion of the elf king has waned in recent weeks, particularly with the departure of his captain whom Severus rather liked, but he can't fault the notion of assigning all blame to Morgoth.
There's a slightly involuntary stiffening of her spine as Severus gets to the heart of the matter. She'd rather hoped her flippancy, making it sound like she thought he actually cares about her emotional well-being on some level, might save her from having to address this particular issue. She's not real into her own vulnerability.
"It's rather convenient, isn't it?" Odessa's mouth curves upward in a smile that's slightly bitter in some way. "I'm sure we're all enjoying absolution from our roles." Even as he finally looks at her, she directs her gaze elsewhere rather pointedly, crossing one arm over her torso. She's not annoyed. Not with him, not really. But this isn't what she intended to talk about.
"There isn't any lingering sensation of icy fingers in my head, wrapping around and squeezing my brain until I scream, no." Not when she's awake, anyway. Her free hand unconsciously finds its way to her collar, first two fingers hooking over her scarf. A nervous sort of reflex, it looks like she's worrying at the fabric, but if Severus is being particularly perceptive, the stationary position of her thumb gives away that it's the skin of her throat that she's feeling with the back of her knuckles.
1) This man caring about someone's emotional wellbeing is really, really unlikely, and where dark magic is concerned, it's a sucker bet to think he's prioritizing anything but that.
2) Severus is always particularly perceptive.
He's giving her a slightly sharp look now, because while their escape was most certainly close, he's going to be irritated with himself if he was in such an absentminded state that he left her with a critical injury.
"No." To her credit (or at least the credit she is giving to herself), there's no startled disengaging or comical flailing when her habit is remarked upon. Calmly, she undoes the tie and slides the scarf away, revealing ragged skin beneath. "It's not the first time someone's tried to kill me." And if she's terribly casual about that in another attempt to deflect any further discussion, it's because she's used to dealing with people who accept her flippancy as completely normal, and not at all a point of concern.
Which is to say, she's not used to being called on her shit. Stop throwing curveballs, Severus. Gosh.
In the space where someone even moderately well-adjusted would look embarrassed or cowed, Severus watches her impassively - though closely. After a moment he's apparently satisfied that it's not a recent injury, and once more his gaze returns to his work.
In a moment: "But you're nervously playing with it which means you're still suffering some form of anxiety." Only a beat before he speaks again, either before she can retort or talking over her if necessary, "It's fine. If you don't feel anything in your head still, you're as recovered as you're going to get in that regard."
His unwillingness to allow her to interject actually earns him more respect in Odessa's book, along with the fact that he doesn't immediately apologize or ask what happened, how, or why. But she's still slightly annoyed, and it's signified in the way she draws in a breath through her nose. It's not so dramatic as to imply some sense of long-suffering, but it's there.
"If you must know," he doesn't need to know, "I wasn't sure Melkor was ever really in my head. Not until I rebelled. And now that there seems to be nothing there, I..." Odessa falls quiet to give herself the time to think of the right words, rather than babble on in hopes of arriving at her point. The silence is brief, mercifully for her. "The absence is noted, and it feels strange. Upsetting. But that should be a good thing." Which is really why it makes her so mad.
Severus gives her another look, its purpose indefinable.
"Having a purpose to feel passionate about - even if that feeling is manufactured - can be very seductive, if you otherwise lack either thing." Purpose or passion. It's how Voldemort got an awful lot of people; you felt like you were a part of something, you had a powerful and dynamic direction in a stagnant world. "It doesn't mean you're meant for another to control you. It means you need to control yourself."
Her gaze narrows in some mixture of irritation and appreciation. "You're very good at this." Which isn't necessarily something she enjoys, but it's the truth. She's relearning what it's like to be questioned, and not completely written off. That much, she's decided, isn't entirely terrible.
Tilting her head to one side, she lets that faint smile of hers make its way back as she meets his eyes. "I'm in control," she assures with a slight edge. On this, she doesn't want to be challenged. "And I have plenty of passion."
For someone as smart as he is, Severus can be hilariously dumb about certain things. Which is why it takes him a very delayed moment to fully cotton on to what Odessa is getting at, here, gaze slightly frowning, staring at her, a wheel turning slowly somewhere in his brain.
"Are you?" Odessa keeps any wounded affect out of her voice. It's not the first time she's actually had those exact words said to her in a very similar situation. Not even the second or third time. It's much easier (on her) to reflect the blame back onto him than admit that her approach is almost entirely the problem. The what's wrong with me question is never one she likes the answer to.
"You're educated, a doctor, and one of the most beautiful women on this accursed ship."
Severus recites this in a flat tone, to the point. The look he gives her is wary and definitely not offended, but it's clear he doesn't trust her - or, doesn't trust her in this moment. He tries not to make it obvious, but beneath the armor of being far too aloof and superior for all this nonsense, slivers of the real question he didn't voice are lurking. Are you making fun of me?
He's not even the sort of person who's convinced himself of this possibility out of self-pity and shyness. He's convinced of this possibility because it's been his actual experience.
Oddly enough, he inspires the same fear of ridicule in her that she does in him. Especially given any lack of animation in his delivery.
She takes several seconds to study him for any additional cues as to what he may be thinking specifically about her. Two can play at this game, can't they? "Is it so strange to think that I find you fascinating? You're obviously highly educated yourself, a powerful wizard," yes, that's a little strange to say for her; it is what it is, "and more than just reasonably attractive."
For a moment, she allows herself to look unguarded. Maybe even as much as she feels. "You really think I'm beautiful?"
The more she speaks, the higher his eyebrows climb in incredulity. When she gets to the crocodile end he all but throws his hands up.
"All right," he says, "That's about enough of that. You're being ludicrous." No he is not having a tender moment over insecurity with the woman who announced a guy in an alley wanted her to fall on his dick for white knighting her and then nearly giggled at Severus controlling the man's mind into probable assisted suicide. "And also very immature about deflecting conversation concerning your mental health."
The act, such as it may have been, is dropped in favour of standing up straighter and rolling her eyes. "You really are something else." And that sounds like a compliment. "I'm fine." She sighs and adds under her breath, "Wanting to get laid notwithstanding." So, consider that offer a standing one? "I almost did something terrible to a lot of people on this ship because I wanted my freedom. I made the decision not to. And now I don't have a voice in my head directing me to acts of mayhem." See? Fine.
He rolls his eyes, but only a little. It seems like a strangely elegant movement. It's not that Severus wouldn't want to sleep with her - he wasn't lying, she is attractive in a number of ways - but Severus has about nine billion other issues. Among them not really caring at all about getting laid.
"Good. Glad that's settled." God. Why can't he just shut up and have sex like a normal man?
Oh, right. Because then he wouldn't be nearly as interesting.
"So now you know I'm not deflecting when I say call me." Odessa taps the table with the flat of her hand once before pushing away and working toward a slow amble to the door. "Enjoy the wine. Or enjoy whatever you trade the wine for. And thanks again for not leaving me behind."
Severus doesn't say anything as she leaves - he doesn't even really look at her until she's already on her way out, and his expression is still incredulous. It's been a long time since someone pretended to be that desperate at him. But at the same time, he has no idea what ulterior motive Odessa might have; this doesn't make him think she might be serious, it makes him think she has something else that he hasn't figured out going on.
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That matter settled, she offers a shrug to his question. "Fine, considering. Nothing's burning down around me, and there isn't anyone trying to tear me apart, so I'd say I haven't much to complain about." Maybe the next time they find some place to dock, she'll stay aboard the ship. Maybe.
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"I rather meant your head," he says in his cold-water voice, finally looking up at her and not just things attached to the end of her arm. "Versus anything I obviously know already. Thranduil's announcement about the incident has effectively pardoned all involved."
As is just. Severus's opinion of the elf king has waned in recent weeks, particularly with the departure of his captain whom Severus rather liked, but he can't fault the notion of assigning all blame to Morgoth.
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"It's rather convenient, isn't it?" Odessa's mouth curves upward in a smile that's slightly bitter in some way. "I'm sure we're all enjoying absolution from our roles." Even as he finally looks at her, she directs her gaze elsewhere rather pointedly, crossing one arm over her torso. She's not annoyed. Not with him, not really. But this isn't what she intended to talk about.
"There isn't any lingering sensation of icy fingers in my head, wrapping around and squeezing my brain until I scream, no." Not when she's awake, anyway. Her free hand unconsciously finds its way to her collar, first two fingers hooking over her scarf. A nervous sort of reflex, it looks like she's worrying at the fabric, but if Severus is being particularly perceptive, the stationary position of her thumb gives away that it's the skin of her throat that she's feeling with the back of her knuckles.
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Two things to note:
1) This man caring about someone's emotional wellbeing is really, really unlikely, and where dark magic is concerned, it's a sucker bet to think he's prioritizing anything but that.
2) Severus is always particularly perceptive.
He's giving her a slightly sharp look now, because while their escape was most certainly close, he's going to be irritated with himself if he was in such an absentminded state that he left her with a critical injury.
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"No." To her credit (or at least the credit she is giving to herself), there's no startled disengaging or comical flailing when her habit is remarked upon. Calmly, she undoes the tie and slides the scarf away, revealing ragged skin beneath. "It's not the first time someone's tried to kill me." And if she's terribly casual about that in another attempt to deflect any further discussion, it's because she's used to dealing with people who accept her flippancy as completely normal, and not at all a point of concern.
Which is to say, she's not used to being called on her shit. Stop throwing curveballs, Severus. Gosh.
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In a moment: "But you're nervously playing with it which means you're still suffering some form of anxiety." Only a beat before he speaks again, either before she can retort or talking over her if necessary, "It's fine. If you don't feel anything in your head still, you're as recovered as you're going to get in that regard."
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"If you must know," he doesn't need to know, "I wasn't sure Melkor was ever really in my head. Not until I rebelled. And now that there seems to be nothing there, I..." Odessa falls quiet to give herself the time to think of the right words, rather than babble on in hopes of arriving at her point. The silence is brief, mercifully for her. "The absence is noted, and it feels strange. Upsetting. But that should be a good thing." Which is really why it makes her so mad.
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"Having a purpose to feel passionate about - even if that feeling is manufactured - can be very seductive, if you otherwise lack either thing." Purpose or passion. It's how Voldemort got an awful lot of people; you felt like you were a part of something, you had a powerful and dynamic direction in a stagnant world. "It doesn't mean you're meant for another to control you. It means you need to control yourself."
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Tilting her head to one side, she lets that faint smile of hers make its way back as she meets his eyes. "I'm in control," she assures with a slight edge. On this, she doesn't want to be challenged. "And I have plenty of passion."
There. She said it.
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But then.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?"
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"Are you?" Odessa keeps any wounded affect out of her voice. It's not the first time she's actually had those exact words said to her in a very similar situation. Not even the second or third time. It's much easier (on her) to reflect the blame back onto him than admit that her approach is
almostentirely the problem. The what's wrong with me question is never one she likes the answer to.no subject
Severus recites this in a flat tone, to the point. The look he gives her is wary and definitely not offended, but it's clear he doesn't trust her - or, doesn't trust her in this moment. He tries not to make it obvious, but beneath the armor of being far too aloof and superior for all this nonsense, slivers of the real question he didn't voice are lurking. Are you making fun of me?
He's not even the sort of person who's convinced himself of this possibility out of self-pity and shyness. He's convinced of this possibility because it's been his actual experience.
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She takes several seconds to study him for any additional cues as to what he may be thinking
specifically about her. Two can play at this game, can't they? "Is it so strange to think that I find you fascinating? You're obviously highly educated yourself, a powerful wizard," yes, that's a little strange to say for her; it is what it is, "and more than just reasonably attractive."For a moment, she allows herself to look unguarded. Maybe even as much as she feels. "You really think I'm beautiful?"
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"All right," he says, "That's about enough of that. You're being ludicrous." No he is not having a tender moment over insecurity with the woman who announced a guy in an alley wanted her to fall on his dick for white knighting her and then nearly giggled at Severus controlling the man's mind into probable assisted suicide. "And also very immature about deflecting conversation concerning your mental health."
DON'T THINK HE MISSED THAT, ODESSA.
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"Good."
You weirdo.
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Oh, right. Because then he wouldn't be nearly as interesting.
"So now you know I'm not deflecting when I say call me." Odessa taps the table with the flat of her hand once before pushing away and working toward a slow amble to the door. "Enjoy the wine. Or enjoy whatever you trade the wine for. And thanks again for not leaving me behind."
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Ugh.
Back to work.