Firefly Glen The Masquerade

He speaks further, and it occurs to Astrid that she ought to pay more attention to the words; it's so easy to forget that those odd little noises have more meaning than their tone, to tune out the drivel in favor of the more honest indications. Words can be lies, she has found, and she has no time for false intentions. The heavy overtone of submission in her posture fades slightly with his acceptance, and her head tilts as she relaxes and starts to decipher his words. There is a brief pause between the end of his speech and the slow nod she gives in response. Her eyes glimmer with an almost feline intelligence; the intersection of near-genius and utter apathy. I know your language, but I have no need of it.