Bella sits in silence, watching the scene in front of her with the wary eyes of a stray cat long since used to disappointment. She watches Prion Paula draw the Peony Rainbow Blade with the same confidence and energy she'd done for the cameras probably a thousand times before. She watches the Captain sit in his chair and flush with embarrassment. She watches the second cup of tea sit there on the table between them, untouched. She watches her fingers circle the rim of her wineglass.

"I watched your movie," she says, "One hundred and forty-seven times. [i]Prion Paula vs Djemento 2[/i]... the posters were all over that damn ship. And you're. Look, I... nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Her eyes fall to the table as her words fail her. The pointlessness of it all plays out as frustration on her face, and all she can figure out to do with her hands is play with the edges of her glass some more. Eventually she lifts it to her lips and takes a slow, uncertain sip. The wine sits on her tongue for several long moments before she swallows. Her eye lights up with some new realization and she tilts the liquid up into the air to view it from a new light. Her mouth opens, maybe to make a comment about something. She closes it again in a quiet frown. 

Why was she bothering with any of this? All this small talk and playing nice for an enemy! She'd come looking for a fight (or at least some ointment she could steal), only to find the person she'd come to rip into was too sorry and sad to put any pleasure in the act? Now what was she supposed to do with herself? She can't leave without settling things, that would only put the ship on high alert. Her on again off again flirtation with death felt more and more permanently stuck in the 'off' position the longer she spent prowling Hade's sad joke of a vessel. And besides, she had a project now. What would happen to that if she knocked herself off the board? To them?

She pinches one claw into her hand. The thought of violence is exhausting. Her body isn't remotely recovered from Sahar, and even just the memory of blood is enough to make her stomach churn right now. It's a much stronger reaction than she remembers; just what had happened to her? What did it really cost to rip herself out of that divine armor at the peak of its powers? 

Bella wets her lips with more wine, and shakes her head. She gestures, with some insistence, at the still-untouched teacup across the table from her. 

"Is that how you run this ship, then? You wife makes a more convincing argument than," she hesitates reaching for a name that might have plausibly pushed to 'save' her, "Jil, then instead of giving me my name back you put a sword in Tredecima's stomach? [i]That[/i] would've worked out great for you. Tell me, were the Tides part of this discussion? I saw them on the field. I'm curious, did they advocate for or against ripping my guts out?"

Her smile betrays genuine amusement. That's probably worse for her than if she was angry, isn't it?