The wall had a huge print of Leonardo da Vinci's flying machine designs. Tacked all around the print were more sketches of designs. Some with improvements to the design and others with strange writing scribbled all over. If Desmond didn't know better, he would say Cirino was the author of those notes and they were, most certainly, written in an achingly familiar backwards style.

Cirino returned to the room. He slipped through an arch way that, presumably, led to the kitchen.

"Ah, sorry for the mess," he said awkwardly, nodding at the space around them. "I don't get many guests."

Desmond smiled, for what felt like the first time in a long time. "I can tell. Need help?" He moved across the room to take the laden tray from Cirino's arms.

"Oh, non, non, you don't have to. You are a guest." The man fretted until Desmond set the tray on the only empty space he could find, which turned out to be the floor. "Forgive me," he apologized again.

Desmond shook his head. "It's alright. You're an artist. You're allowed to do this sort of thing."

Cirino looked embarrassed as he lifted a cup from the tray and handed it to Desmond. "It is Coke. You Americans like it, yes?"

Desmond accepted the cup. "Yea, we do." He took a sip and almost choked. "Shit, that's sweet."

Cirino frowned at him. "It is not like what you have at home?" He asked, looking worried.

"No, it's totally different," he said. "It's ten times sweeter."

"Well, Europeans are sweeter than Americans, I think," Cirino smiled slyly at him.

Desmond rolled his eyes as he took another sip of the liquid. He looked back to the da Vinci sketch. "You like da Vinci?" He asked.

Cirino nodded quickly. "Very much so. I don't know why but his pieces, how do you say, speak to me?" He shrugged and lifted his own glass from the tray. Standing back up, he looked at the sketch thoughtfully. "It is strange because there are many other artists that I enjoy, but Maestro da Vinci is the only one that I cannot stop thinking about."