<img alt="" src="http://i60.tinypic.com/2eb7ep3.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The blonde woman closed her eyes, the sensation of his hands, one curled under a mirror of hers, the other curled over as she maneuvered it, connecting in opposite patterns that continued the perfect circle.  It was a strange custom she had taken on from one of her teachers at the convent.  When he had told her it was the symbol of Chinese tradition, the Yin and Yang, she had called him a blasphemer and run away.  She didn’t speak to him for weeks.  Eventually, her mother, still alive at the time, told her that “to forgive one must first apologize as none were worthy the forgiveness of Our Father so it is our duty to forgive others as often and as much as our beings could allow in His honor” and the young Yvonne did as she was told.  He accepted her apology with quiet grace and explained to her that the symbol was one of God, for he had made the hands, to be held, in such a shape. <br/><br/>She did not take on all his teachings, such as God appearing to all people differently and that He was in all religions, but this one she remembered, especially now, embraced with this sinner so.  He began the prayer and she followed along, the warmth of their hands and communion with God rising through her arms to fill her heart and her entire being until it seeped into her soul expressing forth with all the might of His Word.  She was unworthy His forgiveness, His love, His sacrifice, but she was given them nonetheless, and she was grateful.  Her prayer over such a meal was the least she could do for Him.  Using herself as conduit for prayer and such forgiveness, bestowing such a regal gift on the unworthy, was more than could be asked for this one across from her, but it was her duty.<br/><br/>Yvael finished the prayer in her trained tongue of Latin, not realizing that she had switched over to the dead language and looked up to her dinner companion to see his reaction.  Had he continued without noticing, lost in his prayers, too?  Had he stopped and listened to the holy speech complementing the words themselves?  Had he felt the current of energy as she had?  There was no way for her to know, but she knew that her message would be heard in his favor, and she hoped it would be enough to start his redemption in the eyes of the Lord.  She would be escorting him for the passage of more than two weeks there and back, and the stay of four once on the continent itself, so she would have plenty of time to assist him on the journey that he might be saved as well.  Time.  A commodity she hadn’t had with his brother.<br/><br/>The angels thrumming energy buzzed into a submission, collecting back into herself.  A dying glow, and she the ember.  Her smile curled in with it, and with that, her hands; she pulled them back and cleared her throat, reacquainted herself with the flatware and the meal occupying it.  She was at supper, with the captain of the ship, the <span style="font-style: italic">Empress of Britain</span>, and she was to be thoroughly entertained or entertaining - likely both - with her gracious host.  The grin for such an event whiled itself upon her face and she shared it without hesitation.<br/><br/>“Thank you for indulging me, <span style="font-style: italic">Captain</span>.  Tell me, is this a meeting of business?”  Yvonne paused, adjusting herself in her seat, laying out the napkin on her lap appropriately, eyes downcast for the moment before fluttering them upon him again.  “Or pleasure?”</span><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><img alt="" src="http://i57.tinypic.com/s6ummo.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">It was said that at the miraculous feeding of the five thousand, the Christ presented the food before heaven and gave thanks. From five loaves of bread and two fish, five thousand men are said to have been fed. At the last supper, when the Christ was aware of his coming suffering, he remember to give thanks for the food: "While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it..."- (Matthew 26:26, NIV) So by his hand, these two were fed to sustain their hunger. The man in the white uniform did not always pray before each meal but at times he would. If the simple silent form of thought would cross his mind before each meal, to him, it was enough to follow the example of the Lord whose prayers were his model. It was of high importance to him to acknowledge - be it verbally or through one singular thought, that all things in life come from Him. One fact still remained and that is that the highest appreciation was not to utter words, but to live by them. Every day.<br/><br/>Heat bristling with blissful sensations generated from the friction of their hands that joined on the table, and the words of a dead language she began to utter. They took the man by surprise. He found himself closing his lips, giving her the honor of such prayer – and he listened attentively, surveying her with curious greys. Beyond the physical realm, a subconscious sonar-like energy pulse was sent towards the woman, and what came back his mind translated into images of bright patterns. Ah! Indeed, he recognized the current of energy as she had, physically conscious. It was in that moment that Luciano knew he was connecting with her on a more personal level. A liking for distance suddenly overwhelmed his desire for solitude and a tremor in his hand, belike, may or may not have alerted the woman that something was wrong. Yet his hand remained holding hers as he felt everything the dame experienced while she continued speaking the prayer. <br/><br/>While his facial expression easily faked minimal interest in the amazing knowledge she possessed of the language pronounced, his soul continued to feel her and her aura radiated ever so brightly. If only she could see it, the man thought as he shielded his eyes by discreetly lowering them to the crystalline vase of fine tulips to their left. It was of a golden color. The color of the choir of cherubim, the highest choir of angels. The color of an aura that belonged to one who was highly spiritually achieved, content in life despite of how much they had to deal with.<br/><br/>A color only given to the selfless of all...<br/><br/>As she pulled back her hands and cleared her throat, Luciano straightened his neck and pulled his own hands as he sat back in a solid, comfortable masculine posture that spoke of one who was not afraid to openly express that he has the world around him under control, that he was ready for confrontation any time of the day for there was nothing he feared but the anger of the one who created him. He scanned the room they were in, head always following his eyes before reaching out for a bottle of French Champagne labelled 'Dry Monopole'. When she spoke her question, his lips bared a set of perfectly white teeth as he gave her a artful smile in return for the question that she had asked. He locked his orbs with hers upon uttering the word 'pleasure', and into her green springs of beauteous pebbles his cold stormy ones plunged. For one second. For two seconds. Nay - for three seconds. This word he was oh so familiar with, could only attract the attention of a man like himself.<br/><br/>“You are a pursuer of truth, I believe, Senorita.” Pouring them two glasses of champagne, they wished one another a good meal and they began to sustain their hunger slowly; a conversation took place in the wheel room. “An honest question conjures a sincere answer. Indeed, this is a meeting of business. I have a lot to discuss with you and this includes your Jewish refugees. You have worked your heart out, for a good cause. We have not had the chance yet to discuss this ... sudden change of heart, but one day you will lie on the field feeling exhausted, feeling victorious. For a good cause, it is always worth risking ... everything you possess, including your rank in the Reich and ... your life.” The tone in his voice was clear, ambitious; very direct and spoken slowly as if in his hands he possessed all the time in the world. The tone also conveyed his inner strength, a tone that commanded respect if the other wished to be respected in return. Luciano's left brow arched as he tipped a small spoon into the liquid substance of a hearty vegan soup and he held it to his mouth. His now darkening eyes searched Yvonne's face for an answer, before sipping the liquid. “I have not being able to find rest since our last encounter. The revelation you bestowed upon me left me thinking for days, for nights. It only rose even more questions within my very mind, Yvonne.”<br/><br/>Another spoon of the liquid touched the back of his throat and a playful curve in one corner of his lips extended as he looked up to her face. “But ... Aristotle once said that pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work, and business is a job.” Putting his spoon slowly down, the man gave the female a glance that would invite her to see through the windows of his soul should his words not be enough of an answer. Lowering his voice as if conveying a secret but all along keeping it clear, he added, staring down at his glass of champagne before taking a sip. O’how he it was not enough to quench his thirst. “Here, in your trip, you do not need to look at your watch. Time is frozen and you are surrounded by water... there is nowhere for you to go. Only pleasure you can find. Pleasure and business, absolutely.” A near-feverish gaze fell open upon the Polish dame once again. He did not care this time if she could see the glistening in his eyes as he narrowed and opened his eyelids slightly. “Like business, pleasure comes in variant forms ... and scales. The highest, my Dear, is of an utterly ... intoxicating physical reflex and of sublime, ahhh, brutal intensity!” His frame took a guarded, shuddering deep breath and raspiness inflected his vocals. He picked up his spoon. “Some made the choice not to discover it, out of fear of losing touch with reality, or God.” Luciano raised the noble tip of his chin while cocking his head to the side. If she was surveying his face, the man would attempt to take her gaze captive of his and hold it if only for a little longer before letting it go. <br/><br/>“So what kind of pleasure did you refer to when you asked your question, Senorita?’’ With a small upward curving of his lips he asked, one side of his thumb rubbed and circled around, ever so gently, the bumpy gem that decorated the end of the spoon’s handle before tipping this last into the bowl of soup once again.<br/></span>