"I-I did not know much of life myself until some point. I have devoted myself to the Royal Navy since I was fourteen. It was worth it while it lasted. I have being given a great honor to command Navy battleships during the first war. Three years ago I was honorably discharged for - for suffering Post-Traumatic Syndrome.  After that I have been working for an Ocean Liner in Italy. Have you ever been to America, Miss Wójcik? Or would you give yourself a chance if the opportunity arises?"<br/><br/>Interrupting himself to order her something else, she told him water was fine, but that mint and lemon would be nice additions.  He simply ordered an assorted platter of fresh fruits and herbs, returning his attention to her with his elbows on the table so as to prop his chin, his eyes lit on her with a casual intensity that unnerved her and eased her at once.  That was his request, she supposed.  Be at ease  and be yourself - the latter of which did not suit the setting.  So she figured the first must have been in order, and leaned back, a wistful sigh pushed from her shoulders as they settled on the leather bench behind her.<br/><br/>"America?" she repeated.  "No, no..." was there a way to discuss this lightly?  It was a heathens den. "Freedom of religion and sacreligion is not something I could condone, so... yes.  Yes, I would very much like to go there, after this war is over, possibly a part of it.  It would be interesting to see why they stand so righteously behind their ocean, neither in favor for or against the Cause.  A man without conviction allows others to direct his soul, and that is the path to losing it.  America is young, and like a child it needs to be taught, raised, protected - from itself.  I think the Fatherland could do just that, and I would be the first to volunteer should the opportunity arise, should the people of the God-forsaken country need a sister, or a mother, or a governess I would be there, yes."<br/><br/>Looking into his eyes, she knew he did not agree, and they stared at each other, severely, even while the waitress set their order upon the table.  She tried to joke with an apology of interrupting, not understanding the situation and causing herself an awkward silence as they ignored her, sizing the other up without regard for the woman, determining threat and escape and everything in between.<br/><br/>Wójcik finished her analysis first with a single thought: she was not here for him, she needed answers.  "The letter from your brother," she said, turning her attention to the lemon quarters, emptying one wedge into the tall glass, "He renounced his belief in Nazism, but more specifically the Fuhrer.  Officer Grazzienelli advised I do the same."  She tipped back the glass, staring straight ahead at the dancers on the floor before them, eyes steady and forced, combating the pressure rising in them from her throat, where the liquid barely slid.