telltale sign

"You think you know me so well, Sharla."

Melia says it quietly, without even the rigidity of play to tease, perhaps only and instead playing with the afteraspect of anyone actually knowing her so well as she - Melia or Sharla - alludes. Of her even having those highly sought hidden depths, rather.

"You think I rely too much on astrology," Sharla returns. "Am I not the most level-headed person you know?"

Ah, this. "I cannot argue with a statement like that."

Not that she has a mind for arguing with Sharla anyway. For one, Sharla is as she says: level-headed, unless clouded by a temporary or long-held moment of stress. For two, Melia would feel it such a waste to spend what necessarily limited time they have together being catty about this supposed shared interest.

(Necessarily? Well, maybe someday...in some way, perhaps she can guarantee it.)

It comes up time and again. She cannot escape it. She has, in reality, lost track of what she does and doesn't believe, so many iterations deep of stumbling upon the answer that would make Sharla most happy in conversation.

Unbecoming...perish the thought. How could anything be unbecoming in the face of polite discussion and great compatibility?

It's simply practical.

"But Sharla...have you always relied on astrology in this way?" Sharla's head tilts to invite inquisition. "To guide you in interacting with potential...friends?"

Now Sharla laughs. Oh, dear, has she said something foolish? But the laughter is so melodious.

"I'm sure I don't ask it to guide me any more than confirm I'm on the right path. Even if we had terrible compatibility, I'd still hope that you'd be my friend. I'd still try for it."

And you'd make up false beliefs in order to save face, too, wouldn't you, Melia concludes to herself.

The rigid Rhapsodist. The charismatic Perfumer.

Is it really such a grand prediction to say that they should enjoy each other?

So much for being inflexible and stubborn, incontrovertibly firm.