Galina had never really paused to consider what type of home Ishmael had made in the city. While her own visions of city living encompassed rooms with touches of wealth to them (over the years her grandiose visions of city living had become a tad more realistic, after all apartments full of what she had once been use to were hard to come by without an income) they were over all rather simplistic with warm and homey touches. It had been a long time since she had seen gold brocade window coverings, gilded tables, settees of silk, marble fireplaces, or even vases of crystal. No, the apartments she had kept had been respectable and simple in the last few places she and Mari had lived. She’d found carpets, a luxury that was quite unnecessary and sturdy furniture, even found window coverings to keep up appearances, but overall it was quite plain and simple compared to what she had once had. Perhaps she had simply assumed that Ishmael might have made his quarters from the same mindset. After all in his profession she had rather expected him to. Now that she truly thought about it. But she did know his origins. Knew how she had once found him, it didn’t fit the picture she had found in her mind. This, the sitting room before her did. It was sparse and bare and fit in with the rundown nature of the house. Once it would have made Galina crinkle her nose at the sight and wonder who would invite someone so grandly into such a place. Those years had long since slipped from her. Gone after nights on forest floors, days hidden in caves, a life in the wilderness that she had never thought of nor would have wished for. Her face betrayed none of these thoughts as she followed Ishmael into the room and settled gracefully on the nearest seat, a faint hint of dust wafting around her as she did.

Interested in Ishmael’s viewpoint Galina tilted her head to the side, indicating that she was listening. She supposed he was right in a sense, the skeleton was the same in most cities. But she disagreed that that was what was important. The skeleton was what was built upon, it defined and supported the society that lived there. People were more or less the same, their cultures differed, their experiences, clothing, voices, nothing but the same. But at the end of the day they were all the same. There were the same type of people everywhere. She could name each type as surely as she could defend her point. They might be from different walks of lives but they all had their roles. The reachers, the ones who tried to aim too high. The supporters, who tended to vanish when they were no longer needed. The schemers, the thieves. They all existed. And while she knew that each person was individual, she’d met too many people, seen to many and maneuvered around too many to give them much more credit than that.

Brisk. Galina almost chuckled at that, bemused at the thought. She was much more perceptive than she was often given credit for. She always had been, for it had been how she was raised, what she was trained for. But she noticed more than brisk implied. Enjoying beginnings of a debate,Galina allowed him to continue without objections. Comments on her own personality did little to support or deny her own claims. It had been a long time since she also had learned that rule in the hands of an impassioned scholar who had led many an evening conversation in the gilded rooms that Galina pretended she hardly remembered and yet remained lingering on the edges of her mind as if seared there for all of time. The freedom she had thought they would bring, which had tempted her into her current path, now haunted her like the rusted bars of a cage.

The idea that she had only visited the cities almost made Galina laugh again. Oh if only. She had immersed herself in the cities each time she had convinced Mari to live in one. She had found salons to debate in and integrated herself into the fibers of the society around her. Mari even attributed several of the revolutions following 1848 to have happened due to some prodding from Galina’s participation. But immersing oneself in a city never made one from there. She had learned that too. One could tie themselves as deeply as possible into the roots of the city and still not belong. And perhaps in that there was an element of truth in what Ishmael had said. For how could something like them actually live in a city, after all, they were in essence - dead. Never truly capable of living in a city or a town as a human might.

“See, I disagree.” Galina began pleasantly. “The skeleton is what supports and defines society and as such each city. The people, or faces, as you put it all are the same.” Galina brushed off idly, waving her hand in the air to dismiss the idea, knowing full well he’d object. “If you look closely, get close enough to the faces, they fall into the same categories, the same patterns. There are always those seeking to gain status, those that want to simple get through life, the ones who thieve or drink to get through their days. Really they all become the same.” Galina shrugged as she explained her thoughts.

“Perhaps you are right to think one must live in a city, not simply visit it, to understand the subtle differences. But do you really think we,” She gestured between the two of them, “Could ever actually live in a city. We will never know what it is like to be from a different city, to understand the nuances and gentle differences, as we can never fully integrate ourselves into their society.” There was no bitterness in her tone, only a thoughtfulness. She had missed these debates, enjoyed them with Ishmael came to the caverns. It was then that such thoughts and ideas were indulged and allowed to be flushed out. It didn’t matter that they might not agree at the beginning, nor at the end. It didn’t even matter that they might dance around subjects lightly that were really layers of pain and annoy for them. What mattered is that it allowed Galina to feel more herself than at other times. Her skills had always surrounded people, convincing and toying with them. She knew that these skills were for more than simply luring her pray, which was what Mari often attributed them as best for having never been one for the intellectual pursuits that had once been Galina’s wings to fly.