[Slevin's gaze is unfocused somewhere through the wall behind Cassel. He opens his mouth to answer but there's nothing there to say, or he doesn't trust himself, or both, because he closes it again without speaking.

Such a simple request. Tell me about her. But what? Tell what? Where to start?

He's not aware of beginning to smile, or the way his eyes begin to go soft as he finds his footing. The way his voice doesn't sound like his, but like someone normal, someone that doesn't use every sound that comes out of his throat for some decided end.]

I was trying to make her like me. I didn't realize until it was too late, she's the kind of woman that decides how you feel about her. Not intentionally, just... she decides she likes you, she smiles. You smile back. It's over.

Nothing throws her. You pitch her the wildest story and she picks it apart, puts it back together better, throws it back and you hope you can catch it when she does. She doesn't even know she's doing it.

She's just... I was trying to make her like me. I don't think anyone makes her do anything.