[Oh, she always assumed he would get it, if he had the requisite information. Though it's true he may at times be rash and is often - unfortunately - ill-informed, she has faith in his ability to reason. (Maybe more than he does.)]
[But that temper is a force to be reckoned with, and as Naminé herself is not given to lose hers, it falls to her to try to keep things as calm as possible. She performs this duty unflinchingly, body language the picture of poise, hands neatly folded together. There's nothing even remotely threatening about her save, perhaps, for the lack of readability. As placid as she is, she gives very little away, especially in comparison to her initial reactions to him. She has... withdrawn, to an extent, because she must. It wouldn't do to look at him with as much sadness or as much tentative hope as she happens to feel.]
[It helps, though, to have another question to answer. This duty, too, she takes to without hesitation, lifting a hand to splay her fingers against her chest just the way she did the first time she introduced herself to him, offering him a gentle, cordial smile. (It's surprisingly genuine, all things considered.)]
My name is Naminé.
[Yet things are both simpler and more complicated than they were the last time, and suddenly she finds herself faltering, hand slowing as it lowers to return to its twin. It isn't the discomfort of how nostalgic it is to do the same thing once more; not exactly, anyway. It's that the more she remembers the last time, the more she remembers the mistakes she made. She wants him to have the chance to speak first, yes, and to ask what he wants to, but she also knows him (and herself) well enough to anticipate one of the things that's probably putting him most on edge. She knows what she would fear, if she encountered another Nobody whose name she did not know, and that's what makes her part her lips as if to speak - but again she stops herself, this time with more effort and the slightest shake of her head, meant for her own scolding.]
[Her evenness is thereafter and for the most part pulled back into place, but with a subtle difference in the tilt of her head, the set of her face. There's something knowing, something very quietly beseeching in her eyes, something that looks like a, 'You can ask me what you really want to, Roxas.']
no subject
[But that temper is a force to be reckoned with, and as Naminé herself is not given to lose hers, it falls to her to try to keep things as calm as possible. She performs this duty unflinchingly, body language the picture of poise, hands neatly folded together. There's nothing even remotely threatening about her save, perhaps, for the lack of readability. As placid as she is, she gives very little away, especially in comparison to her initial reactions to him. She has... withdrawn, to an extent, because she must. It wouldn't do to look at him with as much sadness or as much tentative hope as she happens to feel.]
[It helps, though, to have another question to answer. This duty, too, she takes to without hesitation, lifting a hand to splay her fingers against her chest just the way she did the first time she introduced herself to him, offering him a gentle, cordial smile. (It's surprisingly genuine, all things considered.)]
My name is Naminé.
[Yet things are both simpler and more complicated than they were the last time, and suddenly she finds herself faltering, hand slowing as it lowers to return to its twin. It isn't the discomfort of how nostalgic it is to do the same thing once more; not exactly, anyway. It's that the more she remembers the last time, the more she remembers the mistakes she made. She wants him to have the chance to speak first, yes, and to ask what he wants to, but she also knows him (and herself) well enough to anticipate one of the things that's probably putting him most on edge. She knows what she would fear, if she encountered another Nobody whose name she did not know, and that's what makes her part her lips as if to speak - but again she stops herself, this time with more effort and the slightest shake of her head, meant for her own scolding.]
[Her evenness is thereafter and for the most part pulled back into place, but with a subtle difference in the tilt of her head, the set of her face. There's something knowing, something very quietly beseeching in her eyes, something that looks like a, 'You can ask me what you really want to, Roxas.']