<img alt="" src="http://i60.tinypic.com/2eb7ep3.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The half-angel continued eating her meal, refusing to react to the… lascivious captain.  She lifted the bowl with a trained focus, ignoring him almost completely - or at least that was how it would appear.  There was a part of her intimidated by his prowess, the experience that, he was right, she would never allow herself to know as he had.  Which, of course, made another part of her quite angry.  It was sinful behavior!  How dare he make allusions to her in the same respect as if he had the right?  <br/><br/>How?  Because that was the behavior of the sinful.  She kept her calm, knowing this to be true, knowing there was little she could do for such mindsets, not matter the circumstance or personage.  She simply needed to take control of the conversation again, so she did not react, giving him nothing to work with, even as he pulled in close to whisper in her ear again.  <br/><br/>The lifted bowl was tilted forward so that she might spoon the remainder.  She leaned into it, emphasizing her disregard for his speech as well as giving herself some much needed space, though she would not admit it to herself, and brushed her hair across his face.  The motion could easily disconcert a man, especially in his… position.  He handled it well, distracting himself with refilling her glass.  She hadn’t finished it off, so it lead to his intentions as well as anything; perhaps she was playing her part a little too well for the poor captain.<br/><br/>“So, will you encounter all versions?  That is the question,”  he returned to the point, settling the glass before her, the air about the action different than when he had picked it up.  It was gentle with a certain natural dexterity, but now all business  Good, he was getting control of himself as well.  “Ah, I highly doubt it I am afraid, unless you are willing to give up comfort and pride to secure your quest, Commander, while avoiding the greater pain”<br/><br/>The blonde woman went stiff with rage.  First, he dared to insinuate that she might be like other dames he had apparently encountered all too frequently in his line of work, then he thought he could punish her by refusing her “all versions”.  She didn’t care for them, so it was no punishment at all, but the arrogance!  To think he could act in such a way, toward her?  This was ending.  Now.  Picking up the flute, the substance within bubbling much more gently than herself, she took the cue and swirled it with that same adolescent interest as before.<br/><br/>“My quest, Captain,” she said without lifting her eyes, “is to get the refugees to South Africa then get back to my post in Mittenwald.”  Yvonne tipped the glass on her lip, finishing it off in its entirety in one gulp.  She felt the cold liquid fall on her stomach, boiling on impact, heat permeating the night as it fell on her shoulders, rising up to tilt her perception as she laid it on the man nearby.  “I do believe this is the business you mentioned wishing to discuss?  If not…” she folded her napkin from her lap and laying it over her finished plates.  Pushing away from the table, she stood with careful indignation, her emotions in check, though no less existent, keeping them at bay and making her own intentions as clear as his.  “Then I shall retire.”</span><br/><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;">End of Part I<br/>_____________________</span></span></div>