RP:Back Alley Ruffion

Alvina lays, curled beneath a thin-knit blanket, in the window seat of her Cenril home. The soft pitter patter of the outside weather melts her spirit into much needed rest. On her lap, by soft fire light, she looks over some parchments of literature. Aria lays curled contently at her feet. An enchanted cabinet in the corner of the room echoes a mystical chorus, a soft symphany of metallic instruments that she enchanted to sing. Outside, her curious eyes note various inhabitants rushing for shelter under cloak and through puddles. For some reason, this makes the bard smile. To think that she shares this time with these creatures, for just a moment, makes her feel less alone.

Niktohal sighed as he stared out into the rainy back alleys of Cenril, his mood reflected the dreary, damp weather of the city, the weather preventing him enjoying a cigarette. Wandering down the alleys, the rain hitting and running off of his duster, the man found himself outside the house of the bard. Finding himself unconsciously drawn to the house and the woman, he paused for a few moments reflecting on his options. Inhaling the damp, thick the man decided to approach the house and face the woman inside, for better or for worse.

Alvina smiles to herself, tilting those radiant crimson curls back down to the parchment in hand. Aria shifts in dreams, pawing the air here and there in imaginary chase. The bard giggles, rubs the feline behind the ears and takes another look through the window. To her surprise she catches a glimpse of what could have been a familiar face. Torn between caution and elation, the bard just watched him until it seemed he was nearing the door. Slowly, she shifted from beneath the blanket and cracked the front door with a small smile. "Can I offer some shelter to a back alley ruffion?"

Niktohal returned the woman’s smile devilishly. “I don’t know, would you trust a back alley ruffian,” asked the man as he leaned up against the door frame of the woman’s house. “And as for being a ruffian, I think I have a little more class than that witch,” the man said as he winked at the woman.

Alvina leaned against the interior door frame with a knowing grin. "I believe I've already established I'm not the one with trust issues." Laughter followed before she moved out of the way to gesture him inside. "If you'd like anything to drink, just say the word. I've brewed some fresh warm tea...but no coffee." She shot him a glance, reflecting back to the image of his mug cast in flickering candle light as she sat alone in the empty establishment a night or so ago. "And if you are not a ruffian, what would you be? Mayor of the back alley association?" She closed the door behind him as he entered, extending her arms to take his soaking duster to lay near the fire to let it dry. "Well? Don't let that thing drip all over my floor." She teased, extending her arms like a coat rack.

Niktohal winked playfully at the woman as he pulled off his drenched coat and handed it to his ‘gracious’ host. “I am no mayor, witch. I have no city to rule,” the man said has he eyed the woman over as a smile crossed his face. “As for the drink, Mayor, I think will respectfully decline. The rain was refreshing enough,” the man joked at the woman. “So this is what your ‘fortress’ looks like, witch,” the man said as he looked the place over with slight amazement.

Alvina blushes a little as he looked over her home. She tried to hide that fact by taking the coat to hang near the fire. "Did you really think me a witch? Cauldrons and the like?" She laughed, covering her laughter with the back of her fleshed palm. "Hardly.." she grinned, overlooking the soft crimson curtains that drapped the windows. The light wooden floors stretched out into the cooking area, which was rooted in dirt to keep from catching the house aflame. The room was not largely decorated, but it did contain a few rare or unusual items. First of all would be the music box, it's chimes softly filling the air with it's melody. Second, off to the corner, would be a metallic work table with was currently playing host to the objects she'd recovered from the lab, belonging to her father. Lastly, the large seated window. It wasn't custom to have such window space in living facilities, as they made the weather more influencial on the internal climate, and more dangerous for theives or like-brutes. "What brings you out in this weather?" She wanted to admit to being wonderfully shocked by his company, but thought it a little overbearing. "This is the last place I'd expect to see you honestly."

Niktohal nodded at the woman’s words before turning to face the woman fully. “Out in this weather, you ask? I find the rain rather relaxing actually. I really can’t explain why, but the cold and damp seems to relax me,” the man replied to the woman, finding himself studying the woman, looking at her with a glint of hope in his eye. “This is the last place I expected to find myself also, witch,” the man said with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. As for ‘witch’ title, mayor, you don’t need cauldrons and the like…”

Alvina rolled her eyes at the nickname, "I'm surprised to find we have something in common." Her teasing voice echoed across the room, her bare feet leading her to Aria's sleeping form. "It really is no intrusion. Aria and I love the company." She smiled, scratching the still sleeping feline affectionately. Standing, the bard then moves back to a reasonable speaking range, a few feet from the male. " You're welcome any time." She noted, hiding the slight blush on her cheeks by twirling a ribbon of her hair close to her cheeks. "Out of curiosity..." she smirked, "What does one need for the title? I seem to be getting a lot of little names from you recently. Whatever should I be calling you in return I wonder..." Her finger juts to the edge of her wicked smile in jesting thought.

Niktohal winked at the woman as he took a few steps towards the woman, a devilish smile crossing his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know what to call me,” the man asked quietly as an eyebrow cocked up playfully. “And as for titles, they tend to be a defense mechanism for me, Alvina,” the man said with a slight shrug. “I tend not to get close to people…” Alvina lifts her own brows at his response, catching some sort of challenge that she isn't yet privy to the rules of. "I would very much like to know what you've have me call you," she smirks, tweaking her brows upward in a dare of sorts. Her own cocky mood jumped down a bracket or two at his confession, though the smile still held. "What proof can I offer to gain your trust?" Her hand lifts to cross over where, inches down beneath layers of flesh, muscle, and bone lies her beating heart. "I am an honest woman. No dark twisted path of deceit to be found here, my friend."

Niktohal shrugged at the woman and her question. “It’s not a question of proof Alvina, it’s a matter of time. You assume trust can be given out at a moment’s notice, but you are wrong there. It has to be earned and that takes time,” the man said in response to the woman. “And as for what you can call me, I’ll leave that up to you and your imagination.” Alvina had to bite back the strangest urge to call him Sky. The impulse fled as quickly as it had arrived. She wanted very much to argue the point he was making on the issue of trust...but she understood that her views were the more dangerous. Trust, her father had taught her, needed to be earned. But her mother had always encouraged her to go with her instincts and trust those her heart and soul felt worthy of it. Reckless, but effective in some small way. "I'm aware that trust isn't some copper piece trinket to be thrown around..." Her voice held a soft, defensive tone, as if the woman felt she was being accused of being childish.