[ Clearly it's a construction, a facade created to tailor to a particular aesthetic; she's not entirely unconvinced this isn't more of the same illusion technology that exists in the sunlight room on the station, even if she's found some of the items — like the food on the table itself — to be very, very real. But the very notion of it existing to cater to a specific type of fantasy likely negates it being any real paradise, merely something manufactured based on the mere concept.
She doesn't say any of this, letting the wryness with which she'd delivered her remark speak for itself, but it's what he offers next that prompts her gaze to lift from the banquet table and linger as he strides nearer — a very particular choice of words that calls back to a previous encounter on the station, one she'd had with a very distinct face. ]
You looked different last we spoke. But then again, I suppose we were all changed under the guise of so-called perfection.
no subject
She doesn't say any of this, letting the wryness with which she'd delivered her remark speak for itself, but it's what he offers next that prompts her gaze to lift from the banquet table and linger as he strides nearer — a very particular choice of words that calls back to a previous encounter on the station, one she'd had with a very distinct face. ]
You looked different last we spoke. But then again, I suppose we were all changed under the guise of so-called perfection.