Though they had the edge of a jibe, her words largely merited a considering pause, arching up on the toes of one foot and balancing that way without particularly being aware of it, his other leg bending back into the air.<br/><br/>For the question to his soul, a nod of his head to confirm. For the Thirst, a shake of his head, then a shake of his head again. The Harlequins did not feel the Thirst, but that affliction was peculiar and particular to the Dark Eldar from his knowing of it. It wasn't that he couldn't speak, he could, he just went through stretches of feeling absolutely no impulse to. And the stories of the curse often freaked people out, so.<br/><br/>They were curious, the Dark Eldar. He wondered sometimes if being inducted amongst his kind could abate their thirst, and if so inducting was even possible. He wondered what earnest answering on their condition and perspective would sound like. And then he wondered if wondering was an emotion, but if it was, it was probably a pale one.<br/><br/>He held her in the regard of the red mask for a while longer, considering the last of her questions and challenges, then beckoned for her to follow him, straightening as he did. He paused, thinking of her prideful bearing, and with every due grace reached to lift up her hand to press vertically with his own, and between his own, as if both to note it was a request, and to emphasize that request, before letting it fall. If nothing else, there was a rush of heat that pulsed under contact with his skin, the aftereffect of the earlier straining of his body.<br/>