There is that flavour, that taste of the ‘other’, something beyond a baser lifeform. But he won’t push — she is — nothing he’s encountered before, at least not face to face… and half the fun is in the finding out, after all.
There’s a slow blink, another tilt of his head as he lets his gaze wander, dropping to take in the fullest of the woman before him and rising again - s l o w l y. He does appreciate the - drama. And it’s an antithesis to his own garb. Stark contrast, different plays on a spectrum which didn’t end with merely ‘black’ or ‘white’ as it’s singular spanning entities.
“And what kind of — art — do you create? Things of creation are, often prey to scathing commentary. What might be - beauty - for one, would be abhorrent to another.”
"As for the company, I don’t find myself needing to press such a - critique…”
Another of those smiles as he indulges, quite content to walk the line of words and gesture without any overt pressing of curiosity. All things come to those who wait.
- —And he has nothing but time.
“I am most certainly not,” Em said without hesitation. Her hand fell to rest on her hip. The need for elaboration was unnecessary. The affirmation itself was likely not needed, either. She was an elite Madame and her prestige alone shed ‘normal’ from her lifestyle, even in human terms.
His admiration only earned him a tilting of her head and a poised smile. Preening was a sign of someone trying too hard. Of someone overly eager to please. She was none of those things.
At his question, she stepped a little closer and adjusted her sunglasses. Then, she lifted her left hand, her index finger poised. “The most beautiful art of all,” She unabashedly swept her hand up to his forehead, down an eyebrow, then back up to trace his nose. “I create contemporary marble sculptures of lifelike men. The rich. The homeless. All walks of life. There is certain…” she flicked her wrist. “…irony to capturing the mundane in art. Every wrinkle, mole, and stray hair. Why should only the gods be captured in white brilliance?” She moved down to trace his jaw. “Still, there are the god-like who happen to walk among us, and those are always the most beautiful to recreate.”
