“Ah– please, I didn’t take any offense!” Both hands waved in front of her as though to show that she was honest in that statement, pursing her lips as she mulled over that statement.  Arms wrapped around her knees as she sat beside her companion on the grass, humming softly in agreement.

“… I suppose you are right.”  Isabelle giggled softly, shaking her head slightly. “Everyone has their faults… even us.

“Although… if you’ve seen the moving pictures that they have of beings like us, it’s strangely contradictory: they seem to love making gods and goddesses fight one another. And they portray ghosts and spirits in such horrid ways– I wouldn’t even consider doing some of the terrifying things they portray us doing!”

Yali chuckled. “I’m reminded of my portrayal in a computer game from a few years back. It’s... well, let’s just say it’s rather unflattering. Though I gather I’m one of the toughest bosses in the game, so there is that.”

She frowned in thought. “Anyway, I’m not so sure that it’s necessarily a contradiction. ‘Perfection’ will mean something different if you’re talking about a perfect knife than it will if you’re talking about perfect justice.”

Zeva ogled the clenched hand in front of her and had to contain her laughter as she inspected it. What in the world was she looking at? A small breeze picked up her hair as the setting sun created a halo around the blonde in front of her. She looked so elegant and yet her extended fist said something else. There was no intention of a fight as Isabelle’s soft features insinuated otherwise, so what was it? 

The spirit placed her hands under the fist instead. Maybe there was something in it that she was getting? 

Soon, after eyeing the woman and the fist, did the puzzle finally click and her pales cheeks dusted with red. “You...wanted a fist bump? That is what they call it, correct?” Her fingers rolled into her palm and lightly knocked into the hand before her.

The spirit clenched her fists tightly, glaring down Isabelle before her. Agitation swelled in her veins and it took a lot out of her not to completely raise her voice at the taller woman.

“Je vous ai dit, Isabelle, mon étude n'est pas d'être touché! Do you not get it? Il y a des choses pas fait pour vos yeux. Vous n'êtes pas heureux de voir qu'il te plaît!”

Zeva huffed as she shifted to the door behind her and slammed it forcefully. 

“Do not do that again.”

Describe your perfect partner. Head to toe. Flaw to feature.

An idle finger ran across her lips, the question invoking a small hum to pass. Such an interesting thing, what she wanted to know, but Zeva supposed it could not be too harmless. Just leave out a few key details and Isabelle would get the answer she desired.

“Aside from myself, perfection ceases to exist.” 

The joke floated by without a follow up of laughter and she proceeded.

“A perfect partner would be someone who is interested in the same things as I. Sharp features has always been my favourite, as well. I suppose the humans of the era have their stereotypical ideas of beauty and that might be what I am interested in.” At least that was the beaten path she followed. “Someone who is not afraid to indulge in the finest pleasures. I may thrive off of fear but that certainly is not one of them.”

The spirit shrugged, her brown curls bouncing off her shoulders in the mean time.

Yali frowned, thinking of Athena, of justice, of defiance. In the end, though, she found a crooked smile of amusement creeping up the side of her cheek.

This woman is usually no stranger to long lengths of time in solitude. However, today was different.

There was a unusual pang of irritation bubbling in her chest and nothing she attempted to do could remedy it. Her study was messy due to the discarded books, her rooms practically destroyed with clothes scattered and a least 3 empty bottles of wine scattered the long table in the dining room. She sat rather uncharacteristically slumped in the velvet armchair next to the fire place and rolled onto one hip.

Nothing could solve this problem and she did not feel like leaving her abode to go find the entertainment. A few more beats passed and, right before pushing herself onto her other side, a knock burst onto her front door. Propping herself upright with confusion, the woman made her way across marbled floors to see who wanted to bother her.

Yet with opening the door and seeing who stood there, it was more shock than disappointment that filled her features.

“Isabelle?”

Isabelle always did something to the spirit that she certainly disliked. There was always a persistent and dull creak to the woman’s bones whenever the other being had left her space, always something lingering within her. She did not understand one bit what the effect was and promptly swept it off to the side and left it to sit until another day came about. It was unwanted and frankly deeply disregarded.

Yet, when the blonde would stand right in front of her, the words falling from her lips as if anchors were attached to every syllable, it made the spirit think. In times like this, she would not care. There would be no pang in her chest, no sympathy; only outright mirth and amusement. However now hearing these words from this person specifically was enough to make Zeva uncomfortable. Perhaps from the close proximity emotionally.

Shifting awkwardly, Zeva ran an exhausted hand through her hair and looked at the being before her with contorted features. 

“And you think your place is with me?”The Goddess caught a luagh in the back of her throat, shaking the long, thick black waves that danced upon her head as she acted out her part. Why did everyone think that Pele, the Goddess of volcanoes was so generous and that much more?“I may be the mother of Hawai’i.” She spoke up sternly, looking at the tired and battered girl with some sense of remorse that she had stopped to hear her cries out and  decided discover the cause. “But do you truly think that you, a young girl can survive in my home? Can ask such a great task?”