Chiana gives one last look at the animal, who's long since walked off and could care less, before she follows after Eames. She's fine with the silence as they head back to the hotel; it gives her an opportunity to watch the human. The way they walk is very Sebacean, as well, this one as much as the others. Her gait, by contrast, is a lot more... expressive, for lack of a better word. Not that it expresses anything but what she wants it to, although she isn't even sure that humans can read Nebari body language.
They stop in front of a few doors, and she points at them in turn, humming a Nebari song under her breath, before she grins at Eames and picks the one in the middle, because she likes it best.
She opens it and takes half a step in, standing in the doorframe and looking in at the quiet room on the other side. It doesn't look like anything she's seen before coming to the hotel, with what she has learned to recognise as a very human pattern on the walls. Curtains, a couple of rugs, refined wooden furniture (how odd; wood is for things not refined, the way she sees it, wood is for blunt and rustic and simple), warm tones and shelves full of old-fashioned books. She steps in fully to go and look out the window, without expecting her life disc to start functioning again. This is clearly not her universe.
Outside, the streets are dirty and filled with humans. There are more of those four-legged animals, being ridden or pulling carts along. She puts her gloved hand on the window pane and watches for a few seconds, dark eyes wide and unblinking, before she glances back to check on Eames, and the door.
no subject
They stop in front of a few doors, and she points at them in turn, humming a Nebari song under her breath, before she grins at Eames and picks the one in the middle, because she likes it best.
She opens it and takes half a step in, standing in the doorframe and looking in at the quiet room on the other side. It doesn't look like anything she's seen before coming to the hotel, with what she has learned to recognise as a very human pattern on the walls. Curtains, a couple of rugs, refined wooden furniture (how odd; wood is for things not refined, the way she sees it, wood is for blunt and rustic and simple), warm tones and shelves full of old-fashioned books. She steps in fully to go and look out the window, without expecting her life disc to start functioning again. This is clearly not her universe.
Outside, the streets are dirty and filled with humans. There are more of those four-legged animals, being ridden or pulling carts along. She puts her gloved hand on the window pane and watches for a few seconds, dark eyes wide and unblinking, before she glances back to check on Eames, and the door.