[i]"Bon appetit, Monsieur[/i] Goemon." 

There was no true correction in Galina's voice at all, merely a pleasant response to a pleasant dinner companion. She peered over a bit at Goemon's plate, noting the lovely piece of salmon resting there, glistening with savory butter and capers and the delectable twin to her own and Klara's. 

"Although next time, I imagine if you wish your fish raw, all you need do is speak to the kitchen. Considering the price of the tickets for this cruise, the chefs should be more than willing to accommodate." A sweet, slow smile grew across her face and she winked quickly at her fellow spy, to reassure him she was only jesting.

At least in part.

Still smiling, Galina took a small, delicate bite of her salmon. Such elegantly cooked flesh should have tasted a touch sweet, rich with the butter sauce, savory even with a hint of tartness from the capers and the whole of altogether delicious. A shame really, that all her meal instantly turned to ashes on her tongue - and all for a word. 

A single word, and Galina could feel the joy of the dangerous game she played with Goemon turn cold and suddenly unappealing, as if their good waiter had actually placed a plate of raw fish before her, instead of her erstwhile dinner companion. 

Galina knew she ought to simply... [i]Let this go.[/i] Quietly bite back her questions and wrap herself once more into the cool, collected shroud of unimpeachable professionalism. Goemon was already well aware she had something of the measure of him, she felt sure. She had the upper hand in this oh-so-courteous fencing match of words, and she [i]damn[/i] well knew it. So what in heaven's name were these words that tripped off her lips, as if they had a life of their own?

"Americans, hmm?" Galina's dark eyes remained wide and disingenuous, her voice still sparkling with that sweet musicality that made every word a joy to the ear, no matter if she spoke a shopping list or poetry. 

"Have you visited the United States much yourself then, Mr. Goemon?"

Klara's handsome, silver-haired head lifted from her own plate to give her dear young girl a quick, concerned glance, her brow suddenly furrowing with a worry she was nowhere near skilled enough to hide. Galina had not been near the same fiery spirit since her return from her last mission in America, subdued in truth, suddenly restless and then listless in turns. The elder woman had entertained a hope that this ocean cruise, even if it were to be combined with another mission, might have helped ease whatever melancholy fit had taken her. She was not pleased in the [i]least[/i] to hear Galina speak of that place. 

"I have," Galina continued, oblivious to Klara's expression or, in truth, to whatever might have crossed Goemon's face at that moment. Her gaze was entirely for her own plate as she slowly, almost thoughtfully, sliced another small bite from her salmon with her fork with the strangest of care. 

"The last time was to San Jose, in California. I met one of your fellow countrymen there, at a party... He was a kind man, so very intelligent with a wonderful eye for artwork. Exceptional really." Galina smiled wistfully.

"I should have liked to have made his further acquaintance, though there was truly no chance at the time. Souma was his name." She played for a moment at that small piece of salmon with the tines of her fork, but did not actually spear it to lift to her lips. Instead she simply set the utensil back down to her plate and folded her hands lightly in her lap. 

"Not, of course, that you should know every last one of your countrymen!" Galina laughed softly as her gaze turned toward Goemon. "Well, any more than [i]I[/i] should ever last Russian, of course. So yes, please do forgive my meanderings there... Have you traveled much to America yourself then?"