With a somewhat relaxed expression on his face, Prometheus studied Emory's facial expressions, body language, and even the tone of her voice as she replied to his question. She seemed almost unsure, but at the same time, her words were steady. It was almost as if she was torn between not knowing completely, and having an internal instinct on what she would truly do for someone she cared and loved for. His eyes softened as she told him that she would do anything for one she held dear, even if it meant sacrificing her life. However, in his long stretch of existence, he knew that all might say that, all with a serious tone, and it was easy to say in a relaxed situation. But it was much different went it actually came down to if the scenario actually came into place. Then, and only then, would the truth out itself. Only then would the true answer rise and reveal itself, and show if what one had said was true, or false. Because it was easy to say that now, but it was much, much harder to commit to. Very rarely, does one actually mean what they say. He wondered. Was she one to commit? Or was she one to turn away when the moment mattered most? He was curious...to see if her words were sincere. If she would truly sacrifice her freedom, or even her life, to save someone else.<br/><br/>In his eyes were small sparks, an expression almost unreadable. As if he was between contemplation and wonder. His eyes did not move from her once, and for any, it was an almost unnerving gaze to be held under. Even though he was just looking at her, those eyes held a fire that was...undeniably powerful and strong. She seemed to want to distract herself as she went on to choose her own question, now grinding at whatever root was in the mortar she had found in the house somewhere. As long as he'd lived, reading people had become a second nature to him, and during the war, it had definitely been a crucial aspect. For the slightest moment, he'd seen a sadness in her eyes, but when she spoke again, what little hint of it had been wiped clean, no sign left behind of the emotion for him to see.<br/><br/>Much like his question surprised her, the question that Emory asked him was one he was not expecting himself. Which would he choose? Happiness, or love? His brows furrowed slightly at the center of his forehead in a confused way, but his eyes shone with thought. It didn't take much time after that for her to speak up, brushing the question aside and saying that it had been a stupid one, going on to say that he did not have to answer it if he wished not to. Prometheus did not mind though, it was an honest question, and he felt no need in not answering it. So, giving her a calm and warm smile, albeit a small one, he shakes his head softly.<span style="font-style: italic">"No, it is alright. I do not mind."</span>He moves his hand away from the herbs, and lets his palm rest against his thigh, looking to her as he answered the question.<span style="font-style: italic">"I would choose happiness."</span>His eyes sparkle a bit, and he gets a softened expression on his face, his green eyes focused on Emory's face.<span style="font-style: italic">"Because after all, doesn't love sprout from the roots of deep happiness?"</span>He always thought that to be true, and he'd found it to be the case lots of times.<br/><br/>He wondered how she would react to that, having not missed the pink upon her cheeks, almost as if she were embarrassed by what she had asked him. Prometheus wondered why. But he had a small inkling already just what the answer to his 'why' might be. But he was not about to settle on that answer just yet. He hoped it was for different reasons, and not the one he thought that it was. Pushing the thought to the side, for the time being, he listened as she went on to ask her actual question, perfectly fine with letting her do so. This was a relaxing thing they were doing, and it was quite...fun. It had been some time since he'd had any actual fun, as when he'd last been awake, before waking in her house, of course, was the battlefield. Yes, this was definitely something he needed.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"My favorite...food?"</span>He repeats. Like the question of a favorite animal, he had to think on this one. Prometheus wasn't all too sure if he really had a single favorite food, but instead more of a general favorite food type.<span style="font-style: italic">"I do not have one particular favorite, but I do like dried meats. Wednesday wasn't too fond of them, but the other three seemed to enjoy the taste."</span>He chuckled slightly, the image of Wednesday's disgusted face forming in his mind's eye. After the first time, this had happened, Prometheus had been careful not to eat it around the young Woodland's elf again. Prometheus could tell that the smile she had given him was forced, but he did not let on that he knew that, instead gave her a smile in return.<br/><br/>With his next question, he decided to ask one that wasn't as deep or personal as the one he'd chosen before.<span style="font-style: italic">"Could you...tell me your favorite season?"</span>He stands up, stretching his arms above his head for a few seconds before crossing the floor and going over to the sink, placing his hand under the naturally made faucet and watching the water that flowed out. After a moment, he pulls his hand away and lets the droplets fall from his fingertips, before getting the glass he'd used earlier and gets more water, taking a drink before leaning back casually against the counter and looking at her over the rim of the cup as he held it to his lips. On the table, the bowl of herbs she'd given him sat, the leaves all dry now, and ready for her to use whenever she chose to use them.