Winston smiled to himself in a way that seemed greatly condescending. "Oh, you are a quick girl," he remarked, looking over at her as he smirked, rubbing his chin where a very light stubble had begun to form. He gave his temple a light tap, the smirk twisting into an even more condescending grimace as he did so. He provided her with his full attention as she flopped on the bed, evoking a squeak of protest from the rusted springs and frame.
"What do I want from you?" he repeated softly to himself, as if pondering the words, while he unbuttoned his jacket to sit down in a rigid plastic chair which he pulled close to the bed. There was little room between them now, and the way he leaned forward gave them the appearance of a therapist and his patient. Winston's brow had furrowed in a look of concern for her, but he once more laughed as she clucked her tongue at him like a disapproving parent.
"I can't imagine your life is much better than this as a...what is it called? Maniac?" He looked down at his hands for a moment, clasped before him in his lap. "What do I want from you? I want nothing in particular, love. Really, the question is 'what do I want to do for you?'" He looked up at her now, hoping to meet her gaze. His eyes looked pained, and he gave her a look of pity.
"I can liberate you," he said softly, in a fatherly manner. "I want to liberate you. What sort of life is the one you lead? You must have had a life before this, and I imagine it didn't involve creating such utter chaos. You are not helping New York, my dear. He scooted the chair a bit closer so that it leaned against the bed, placing him next to her without actually sitting on the bed beside her.
"Say the word, and I can give you what you want," he said, smiling now in a friendly, caring manner. "We can help each other, you see? It doesn't have to be one against the other."