[I have transcribed the scene from the date for context (here is an official link to the scene: watch?v=IXKFfpKxblA). It goes without saying that that belongs to Westworld. What I've written begins after "I". If you're interested to see the text in a different layout, please visit /painting-emptiness/]. Thank you for reading!
Christina walks towards the bar. Her roommate Maya applies lipstick on her, then drops it. Teddy picks it up, cue the romantic music.
"Don't mind me, smiling. Just trying to look chivalrous."
"You're my date?", she asks, astonished.
"Is that a problem?" He laughs, and adds: "Shall we?"
Cut to them sitting at the table in what seems to be a darkly lit hotel lobby, drinks in their hands.
"So, Christina, tell me about yourself."
"There's not much to tell."
"Well now I know you're either extremely modest or extremely private."
"Well we just met, you don't know anything about me."
"I feel like I've known you lifetimes."
"And now I know that you're extremely cheesy." She laughs.
"Or perhaps you could write me a better line."
She seems startled.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well you're a writer, right?"
"How do you know that?" Her tone is suspicious.
"From your roommate. She says you're very dedicated to your work. I understand. I used to live like that. Everyday. You wake up, do your job, and go home. Rinse and repeat, like a train, circling the smallest tracks." The sadness in his eyes, his face, is unspeakable as he says this.
"What kind of work were you in?"
"If I told you you wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
"Hum… I was something of a bounty hunter with a heart of gold." A radiant smile now.
"You're right. I don't believe you!" They laugh together.
"Well it's the thing about this world, he adds, suddenly more serious, sometimes the most unbelievable things turn out to be true. And the things that feel the most real are nothing but stories we tell ourselves."
"Have we met before? There's just something about you that's very familiar."
"Now who's the one with the cheesy pick-up lines?," he gently mocks her.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to."
"No, no. You wanna hit on me I am OK with that. I mean I figure it's your turn."
"I wasn't hitting on you."
"No? Shame. In that case, how about a toast? To you and your path. Wherever it leads." Their glasses clink.
I
Christina smiled again, one of her sweet yet very sad smiles. Her date looked at her.
"Perhaps we ought to toast to our path, she said, softly. Wherever it leads," she added.
"So you are asking me out," he said, still smiling.
She looked at him shyly, with big, open eyes. She was playing with her copper hair, creating a ringlet with her left hand.
"I… maybe we met a long time ago."
"I don't think so, Christina. Although I wish that we had."
His gaze turned sombre again, as it had when he had made the comment about the train tracks. The smallest tracks. This man has known pain, she reflected. Real pain, the kind she didn't dare use in her plotlines. Yet his next smile was luminous, even more than the previous ones.
"Where would you have liked us to have met? You being the writer…"
She smiled one of her half-smiles again.
"Somewhere warm. Somewhere…"
"An island?"
"No… not really. A place where the mountains meet the sea."
There was now a glow in her eyes, and her smile was growing wider. Yet she was so far away, he thought.
"A place where I could paint." "Maybe you would find me painting."
"What do you paint, Christina?"
"Landscapes. Cityscapes. Emptiness."
She laughed, demurely.
"Just your ordinary amateur stuff."
"Perhaps you'll show me."
"Perhaps. But I don't pretend to be a painter. It's not like it's any good."
"So it was modesty before." "What else do you see," he added.
She understood what he meant by that, and replied with the voice she used to narrate her Olympiad plots to her machine. She was becoming more and more animated, without losing the quiet gentleness, the sheer timidity that he found so riveting.
"A river. Children playing on the banks. The sun is high but not too warm."
Teddy closed his eyes.
"I am beginning to see it too. How did you say, where the mountains…"
"Meet the sea."
"That almost sounds impossible."
"I guess. It's just a dream anyway."
"You seem sad, Christina."
He had taken her hand, and was gently stroking her fingers. She didn't seem to mind.
"I am sorry. It's this city. The bricks, the cold. Sometimes I feel like I cannot breathe. Although it's not one should say on a first date, is it."
"I haven't done this in a long time," she added.
"I only know you have apologised more times than I can count. It's alright, Christina. And I know what that feels like. But I want you to be able to breathe."
She wasn't saying anything in response, seemingly a little absent.
"Another drink?," he asked.
"I am not sure."
"You don't trust me."
"Oh no, Teddy. It's the opposite. I do. And that scares me."
It was the first time she had used his name, also the first time she had looked in his eyes for longer than a couple seconds. Her honestly was startling. Unlike any woman he had known, she was candid. But he knew this.
"You don't have to be scared. And it's just a drink."
Their hands were still joined.
"I don't think it's just a drink, Teddy. You want me to partake in the dream."
"What's preventing you from doing that?"
She looked away, towards the hotel lobby.
"I've told you. Fear."
This she had said in a very delicate way, apologetically, again.
"You seem rather courageous to me. Brave. Loyal."
"You don't know me," she said, but with a smile.
"Well according to you I do. And I see many things, Christina. And I like all of them. Except the pain," he added very softly.
"You carry it too."
"Yes."
"I am not sure I can help you with that."
"You don't have to. You don't have to at all. You might be the one needing the help. Have you ever thought about that?"
"That would be a strange turn."
"Has someone ever helped you, Christina?"
