Well, she hadn't killed him yet, so that was good. Yet even with the signs of tension, of recognizing the name of an enemy, an enemy he served, he could not seem to contain this strange strain of honesty that forced its way out from his body. Now that he'd started, he couldn't stop.
"...You wanna know the truth, Miss Banna?"
"I hate the Coil."
"My devotion is to my friends - I will fight and die for them, and only them. I could not give one iota of a flying fuck for their political agenda or militaristic gains."
"Through unfortunate circumstance, they've strong-armed me into servitude, and I regret it was, and is, an offer I can not presently refuse.
I don't know how most folks find themselves here, in Shadowfall, or for what reason. But I woke up in this city two weeks ago, locked in a basement, tied up, to be eaten by my jailer momentarily. And...I will skip the unnecessary details, but we were happened upon and rescued by agents working for this Coil.
Ignorant, lost, and without a means to protect ourselves, we accompanied them home. And after a trial for our lives, we were adopted into the system, barring we would work for our protection, shelter, and food. We did not have much choice but to accept. For the other option remained wandering aimlessly in a hostile new world, no doubt awaiting a swift death.
That remains my current predicament.
Even before I was consciously aware of my new environment, this place had already begun to make me their enemy."
He leans a little closer, speaking in a hushed tone.
"I want to go home, so I can see my friends safely there, safe and sound. That's all that matters to me."
He falls quiet for a time, examining her face for her reaction. He did not know if he could relate to her, as a pony, or if her new nature as a vampire had all but shrugged off such notions of person-hood. But it had to be there somewhere. That could understand such things, as loyalty to ones friends, camaraderie. He was certain even her kind could know loneliness, and the value of a friend, of finding some manner of meaning in the presence of another.
He had a moment to reflect why he was telling her this in the first place. Yes, she was astoundingly beautiful, but the more she spoke, the more he felt like there was a decent person in there too, somewhere. That must enjoy to some extent the company that wandered into her house, that carried with them seemingly harmless intentions - how often did that happen in this city? Rarely, if never. How he came to this conclusion about her person? He didn't know.
But even beyond that, her beauty, and her person, was the fact she was, for all intents and purposes, foreign. Someone he could talk to with an outsider's perspective in, someone who could give him an opinion, an opinion that he couldn't get from his friends, or the coil. There would no doubt be a bias, but it was a different bias. A fresh one. Removed and unadulterated by the people who comprised 'home.' And that made it exotic and intriguing to him like nothing else.
When was he going to get a chance like this again? To talk like this? Not as enemies, but as two people from two walks of life? All of this drove him. He found himself wanting to be her friend as much as he wanted her in less platonic ways.
He opened his mouth to whisper something, but falters, unsure what to say. His expression mostly remains neutral, but the signs of concern are present; the ever-so slight frown of the mouth, and upturned eyebrows. He hoped what he saw in her was true.