Galina, the woman beneath the facade, laughed - [i]truly[/i] laughed, as she watched the kindly Japanese man take her up on her little game, playing his part and indulging the sweet, gentle young woman at his side. She saw that lively spark in his eye, the [i]decency[/i].

And when he winked at her playfully, catching himself on just the right door, the perfect door? No. There was absolutely [i]no[/i] pang in her heart, no small twist in her gut. No reason to wince inwardly, to have to reassure herself that he would come to no harm - not really. 

"Yes. Please, Mr. Takahiro!" The Baronessa nodded her unqualified approval of his choice, however unforeseen, however guided by the whims of fate and fortune it had become. This was a good door, a lovely door to her bright, laughing eyes - certainly there was something lovely behind it! She waited a moment for Mr. Takahiro to open the door, holding it so politely for her to enter first, as was a lady's prerogative.

She let her breath out slowly, appreciatively, as her eyes scaled the walls all about them, finely carved shelves rising up on all sides of this room, soaring to the high ceilings on all sides. Why, these shelves even flanked the door they entered she realized as she whirled about, smiling so widely at Souma, delighted at their lucky find, so blessed by fortune.

That distinctive smell of bound leather and old paper filled the air, a comforting smell to Galina at least. A familiar scent to her, reminiscent of many long, contented hours spent as a young girl, curled into a high-backed chair long into the night. Galina smiled nostalgically as she remembered the intent, indomitable little thing she had been, fighting even sleep itself for so long as her little body would allow. Her dark eyes would strain in the candlelight, her eyelids heavier by the moment as she struggled beneath their weight. But she would not surrender, not her Papa's little Galina - not until exhaustion would finally take her where she lay, the book of philosophy or mathematics, science or - far more rarely - the occasional frivolous novel finally collapsed over her thin chest.

But always she would wake in her own bed, tucked tenderly by her Papa beneath the quilted comforters at some point in the darkest hours of the day. And always, the book she had been reading lay at her bedside table, a ribbon laid through the page she had last been reading. 

The memory gave her strength, and hardened Galina's resolve. Ties of honor, fealty and love bound her from birth. There could be no passing kindness, no ephemeral decency from a stranger to weaken the steel of her conviction. 

Galina set both champagne flutes on a marble-topped side table beside one of the many high backed, leather-bound chairs placed invitingly through the immense chamber of this library. She wore two rings this night: a large mother-of-pearl set in gold on her right finger; and an ovular circlet of onyx on her left, set in platinum. A gentle sleep that would pass within hours, or the dark kiss of the eternal slumber. Life and death, quite literally, in her very hands. 

In the flicker of an eye blink, her thumb detached the hidden seal of the mother-of-pearl stone, a white powder pouring into her escort's champagne. There was no residue, the drug dissolving almost instantly before she whirled about, both her hands laid easily on the side table as the Baronessa turned to Mr. Takahiro, that wide smile not dimmed by even the slightest degree. 

She held her arms open, wide open to encompass all this beautiful space, filled to the very ceiling with the unmatched knowledge of the ages. "Oh Mister Takahiro, you find beautiful! Diff-rent kind, but beautiful!" 

The Baronessa turned to take up the champagne flutes once more, handing Souma his own, [i]tinking[/i] the crystal of her flute against his in a celebratory gesture. "Not vodka, but beautiful... [i]Deserve[/i] a... A toast, no?" she asked, raising her glass once more and taking a long sip of her champagne.

"You read, Mister Takahiro? Read English, and speak?"