Welcome to Gaia! ::

It took no more than a second's assessment to note that his decor was in stark contrast to that of her own apartment, which contained only the essentials. Nothing for the sake of aesthetics, all functionality and stacks of papers and reports that probably should have been shredded months ago. There may have been a breathtaking view from her own windows, but she could not recall ever opening the curtains.

There were so many visuals to take in that there was some significant delay in recognizing that music was playing, as if to greet him or announce his arrival. His own music! What a charming concept, this modernized reworking of noble traditions.

"I think that 'favor' falls short of what you have already done for me," she quietly interjected, speaking from an ambiguous place between reality and their game. That solemn introspection didn't last for long - his questions were fun again, and paired with his touch they were just the nudge she needed.

She laughed and slowly shook her head, finding herself somewhat flustered at the idea of responding to such a question.

"I regularly theorize about the intricacies of quantum fields and sub-atomic particles, but no, Robert." Her eyes quietly pursued him on his brief excursion to the kitchen, and a 'hm' dissolved on her tongue as she watched him put the champagne on ice. "I frankly think that I could never have imagined you. I was not even looking in the right direction, if you recall."

What she had imagined of tonight involved a dinner with her father, which she might have confessed to him if she could have been certain that he wouldn't get the wrong impression. This had already begun to differ so vastly that she found it less and less appropriate to connect the two in any capacity.

When had that happened? Was it this way from the beginning, and she just failed to notice?

"Any...what?" she absently responded, barely registering that he had asked her something. "Oh! No. We will dine entirely upon your whims. As long as they are good whims, that is. Can I assume that you do not have a taste for anything unsavory?"

A faint tapping resonated from her fingers as she leaned on the divider and drummed her nails on its surface, a cascade of dark hair falling into her face as she tilted her head to the side.

A clever answer, Mimsy noted, adding it to the compilation of data that she had already accrued. She didn't press the subject, nor did she tell him what she would place in that category, but it was saved away if she found an interest in doing so later. There was plenty to occupy themselves with now anyway, judging from the pairing of his self-proclaimed nosiness and her untamed curiosity.

"No, I don't mind," she assured him. "I like answering questions very much. But I would like to propose a trade of similar or equivalent information in return, if you are willing to share your life with me."

No, that wasn't right.

"The details of your life, I mean. Of course." The save was hastily applied, and she almost managed to hide how awkward she felt over her error by slowly taking a bite of the cheese.

"I'm a physicist, which is the same field that I earned my PhD in. I work in Switzerland - at CERN - and am the spokesperson and director of experimentation for the ALICE Collaboration." Her tone was soft and her smile was fond, and she idly tore the remaining portion of cheddar in half with nimble fingers. "ALICE is...my life, if I am speaking candidly. I am here because she is presently resting until the next experiment."

Though her mouth was now occupied with the last bit of cheese, she clearly expressed that it was now his turn.

Though she couldn't place any labels of emotions or motivations on the shift in his demeanor, which she picked up on in the time after her explanation of her occupation, Mimsy did perceive its existence as something concerning. Just a moment ago, he had been the very embodiment of a luminous energy, a spark, a warmth, and it seemed to have dimmed somehow.

Maybe her achievements were not enough for him, either. At least he was polite enough to humor her, if that was the case, by continuing their conversation instead of asking her to leave.

Reflexively, she wanted to apologize, but she refrained for the sake of acquiring more evidence to support or disprove that theory. She desperately wanted it to be wrong, which was an especially bizarre sensation for someone who placed an astronomical amount of importance in the necessity of getting things right.

But if it was wrong, there was still a reason to hold out hope that her shortcomings didn't matter. That she was enough, simply because she was herself.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had moved to touch his hand, a featherlight pressure of a few fingertips resting between his thumb and forefinger. They were trapped in the purgatory of anxious indecision, capable of curling to hold his hand if she could just choose one of two options, but she selected neither of them. They just stayed there while she stared at them, and still remained when she braved looking up at him again.

"It is not very exotic." Maybe he just hated Switzerland, or lamented the fact that he had never been there. Maybe she could fix it, if it was that easy. "I have not seen much of it, I must admit, but we could be tourists together, if...which step would that be? Am I skipping too far ahead?"

'Can we still play?' her eyes pleaded.

"And what do you mean by 'theatre performer'? What sort of performance? Do you perform on, um..." What was it called? She was sure that she would seem hopelessly inept if she could not recall one of the city's most famed attractions, so she chanced a guess. "On Broadway? I have not seen it, however. I have not been to any such shows, but I am not opposed. Do you have daily shows?"

Her fingertips twitched against his hand, hinting that she had more that she wanted to ask, but the questions didn't come.

Whatever the reason had been, the attempts to ignite the spark again seemed to be successful. It wasn't exactly the evidence that she needed to disprove the theory that her occupation fell short of some standard that he'd set, but it supported a plausible alternative, and that would suffice in the absence of more concrete data.

Best of all, he was playing their game again, returning to the piece-by-piece construction of their idealized night. If this was their night, there was no reason that it should not be sustainable in its positivity. Surely neither of them wanted anything different.

"What a delightful idea. We would learn about the world and each other, all at once." While he busied himself with the champagne, she settled her hands in the center of her chest, making her best attempt at a dreamy look. It was close, but still terrible. "This is precisely why I imagined this, so many years ago. The idea of you always was so skilled with these kinds of things."

She watched him pop the cork out of the champagne, helplessly distracted by the mess it left, and stared at it in conflict as she debated how to clean it up. There was nothing on her person that would help her here, and it would be crossing a line to use something of his, wouldn't it?

Jolted out of the messy turmoil as he bumped against her, she resolved that her actions would be allowable under the premise of the ever-changing parameters of their connection, then moved to retrieve the dishcloth hanging from the oven. Torn between wanting to clean it up and not wanting to keep him waiting, she dropped the cloth on the frothy puddle of champagne and hurried to join him again.

"Happy New Year," she breathlessly mirrored him, attempting to fall back into step. "And congratulations for achieving your dream. You must be very impressive, hm?"

He had a pop art painting of himself above his fireplace, she noted, as they approached his living room. Four Roberts in a myriad of bright colors. If he said anything but 'yes' in response to that, she never would believe him.

"I would like that." She deftly took a flute of champagne from him, but selecting a place to sit was more difficult. Was she supposed to sit with him, or should she leave some distance? "I am very interested in watching you--er, in the part of your dreams, that is. Why was this what you dreamt of? I think that it must create something unique and specific, watching someone experience their dreams. I would show you my work, but it is not as enticing to guests as a performance would be, I'd think."

She was distracted again, caught up in the seating dilemma, and it was painfully obvious in the way her eyes darted across the room, never lingering in one spot for long.

Somehow, the story of the painting was entirely reasonable, which was nothing short of amazing when paired with the entirely unreasonable image.

"Don't be ridiculous." Her focus continued to shift as she tapped one nail against the champagne glass in contemplation. "You are most certainly famous. You have a portrait that indicates fame, and you are the only performer that I have ever heard of in all of New York."

The great internal debate was paused to give him a sidelong glance and a partial smile, and remained suspended as she really grasped the rest of his answer.

"As beautiful as..." she repeated in an awed little murmur, wondering if he truly believed such a thing, or if it was simply another part of their crafted reality. It seemed too ideal, equivalent to something from a storybook, so she classified it as the latter with great resignation.

There was nothing beautiful about her, human or not, but it was nice to pretend for a while.

His assistance in seat selection was met with a visible gratitude, as every tightly-wound inch of her relaxed in an instant. That was easy. So many things were so much easier around him, but she had no time to consider why - her breath caught in her throat at the last of his words, the tone of the needy demand, and she sat right where he'd indicated without delay.

"All right." She slid closer to him, basking in his warmth, until they just barely touched at every possible primary point of contact. "What knowledge of me would sate you? I must admit that there may not be much to learn, but...ah, I grew up in Colorado. I have no siblings, but I suppose that my cousin took a functionally similar role. I have always wanted to be a scientist. I enjoy stargazing, and am intrigued by the mysteries of the cosmos. I have never done anything like this."

None of these quite added up to her, and she fidgeted as she thought of what she was exempting. They were making something perfect, weren't they? Maybe it wasn't so wrong to leave it out. Maybe this would still be enough.

Hearing someone suggest that he might lock her in his closet after knowing her for less than an hour should probably have been unnerving to Mimsy, who found it anything but. She had truly survived to this point entirely by chance.

"If you really must allow my freedom, I'll assure you now that you will forever remain the most important performer in New York to me." Thinking of playing captive again earned an immediate giggle, and as the two glasses touched she felt a bit honored that he would want to keep her to himself in such a way.

The request for a favor that followed the friendly toast seemed to be tinted with the same sense of anchored reality as her prior concern over being 'work' had, so she listened with the same sincerity that she had expected (and received). It was a bit strange, she thought, for something so selfless to be considered a favor to him, but she nodded to him without that particular commentary.

As clear a disruption as it had been to their immersion, it was paired with an action that just as quickly pulled them in again - all she had to do was lean into the place that he'd offered to her, and they were right back to the ebb and flow that came so naturally between them.

"You are much too comfortable to make me feel that way," she replied, voice similarly hushed. But what she'd intended as something humorous proved its merits in truth as she grew more acclimated to their physical closeness. She discovered that she fit perfectly into the space that he had given her, when simply relaxing brought her head to rest on his shoulder, and encountered a sense of déjà vu that led her to wonder just how many times she'd already thought something like this over the brief duration of their night thus far.

Could he feel that, just like she did? Even if he could, was this atypical at all? In her naïvety, she refused to ask.

"Anyway, you are in luck." She tilted her head to look up at him, returning only the tail end of his grin. "I felt no such urge for any joke of the sort, and cannot say that I know what 'hick' even means. I did feel more intrigued, as I would not have placed Kansas as your origin, and I also felt as if my sister figure and your sister might be dangerous for all of us if they happened to ever be in close proximity of each other...but no urge to risk belittling you, especially for something that you could never change."

Stating as much brought her to a particularly good place to answer the question he asked about her name. Suiting the pleasant theme of the night well, it was much nicer to feel as if they shared a common ground, and to feel that she could trust him to be accepting of her in her entirety.

And hearing him say 'I like Mimsy' was extremely nice, all that aside.

"My name is Sigrid," she explained, carefully considering how to relate this both sensibly and honestly. "Mildred Sigrid Kercher, technically. Mildred originated from my mother's side of the family, and Sigrid from my father's. I chose my own name when I was very young, to replace my mother's contribution, and when I moved to Switzerland I supposed that simply omitting my first name would result in a more respectable option. Really, 'Dr. Sigrid Kercher' is the name that one might expect to find from someone in my position, and 'Dr. Mimsy' is like I'm a child playing doct--"

Oh. No, no, she didn't want to talk about that right now. She abruptly cleared her throat while offering him an apologetic look, and moved right along.

"So I gave you the name that I wanted you to have, because I wanted you to know me. I hope that's not troublesome to you." Something seemed to come to life in her own eyes, as a new curiosity latched on. "Is Robert your actual name, or a name that you've chosen to accompany your celebrity? I like it too--I like Robert, that is. I would like you regardless of..."

She trailed off this time, but instead of skipping ahead or changing the subject, she closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, and hoped very hard that he would answer her before the silence became incredibly awkward.

If Mimsy shared any of the opinions regarding his right to be physically protective of her, she would have neither voiced nor acknowledged them. Any criteria that determined right was irrelevant; all but one of the people in her life who did have an inarguable right to that defensive position had never stepped up to accept it, and the one who did was not someone that she would cuddle.

"Anything? I just have to want to?" That was daring, and she looked sufficiently impressed by his offer. It posed an interesting challenge - what was the most mutually beneficial name or title that she could use to address him?

The debate was disturbed as she reminded herself that she had another question to answer for him, which was so unpredictably difficult for how technically impersonal it was. All he wanted was a time, at most a date, and of everything preceding it, this was what she was struggling with. She laughed, a sound that could not decide between bitter and hurt, but was quite clearly not good-natured nonetheless.

"My plans have not been especially relevant thus far." Her thin form shifted boldly in search of his touch, shoulder pressing into his palm. "I was here solely to attend a dinner, to deliver news of a successful experiment that is publicly confidential until the press release in several weeks. I didn't have that dinner, and I didn't deliver the news, so I have to admit that I'm not very inclined to catch my return flight in the morning."

There was a small, but noticeable nudge of her elbow into his side, accompanied by a coy glance over the frames of her glasses.

"But...how would I attend your show, if I left so quickly?" The lines between realities were more and more difficult to identify, and her desire to clearly label them was diminishing. "I would not want to cut our night short, either, especially if it meant spending what remained of it alone in the airport. That would hardly be 'our' night at all, if we were no longer together. Right?"