RP:Courting You Gingerly

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

Summary: In a typically aloof attempt at displays of affection, Lionel delivers supplies to Halifax Roots in the hopes of impressing unto Penelope that he's really quite OK with the whole prospective coupling thing. Lionel asks Penelope to work alongside the Warrior's Guild once more as they investigate the origins and impetus behind the string of local earthquakes in the Sage Forest, whilst Penelope surprises Lionel by revealing to him that she's been training with Krice in the ways of melee weaponry. Also, there's a disaster, and some people in a nearby hamlet are dying under mysterious conditions. Because of course they are.

Halifax Roots

It was a schism in his brain and one he had always harbored. Lionel was snarky and aloof in public, a brave and selfless spirit who masked his compassions with wit and awkward moments. For most of his life he had played the masquerade, and those who knew him best knew it as such, but even in knowing that they knew, Lionel couldn’t help but carry on with the charade. The awkwardness he portrayed to others stemmed from great difficulty balancing the private man he presented -- who was genuinely uncomfortable with intimacy of any flavor -- with his fiery and emotionally tumultuous heart. On the surface, he wanted to seem like a wolf; beneath, he was fittingly more of a lion.

With Halycanos dead, Lionel’s body and soul were now his and his alone. There was emptiness and confusion. There was also the feeling that a great heaviness had been lifted from his shoulders. He was now free to be the man he wished to be. But the masquerade remained. He knew it was likely he would always be this way, that it was an immutable trait of his to exhibit psychological dualism even without his Ishaarite “other half.” But he wanted to try, at least a little bit, to change. To find ways to express his inner romance which were his and his alone, his uniquely Lionel sense of passion. It seemed to the former Prince of Catal that pursuing a relationship with Penelope Halifax would be a natural extension of that; leaning on the periodic perspective that the healer was attractively courageous and easy on the eyes to boot could help to teach him how to be more comfortable with the world around him whilst simultaneously bringing a measure of happiness to them both. As Lionel was quickly finding out, however, nothing was so simple. No wonder he had known so many men and women whose attachment to other people drifted and then fell to pieces. Love was hard.

And so the charade continued. He would be the snarky and aloof Catalian, the man who spoke easily and made passing statements about everyone else but himself. When an associate from the Warrior’s Guild, Roberta Draper, gave Lionel her weekly report on Larketian troop movements and the general mood in Cenril, it was a simple thing to tell her she was looking good and then puzzle the poor soldier immediately thereafter with “Then again, I once said the same thing to Ameno.” Afterward, the guild’s lead nurse Rose Tico pulled her commander aside and did her bst to explain to Lionel that not only could his commentary be construed as a negative remark but also he probably shouldn’t be telling anyone else they looked nice while getting started on an honest-to-the-gods relationship with someone else. “Oh,” he had replied. “I guess maybe some people don’t like that.” Tico, a frost giant of over three meters tall, tried her best to tap the human gently on the head and sighed cold breath that ran over Lionel like snow. “You have a lot to learn about women,” the giant bellowed. “Nah,” Lionel answered on his way out the door and into the training yard. “It’s not women. It’s the whole human race.”

To his minor credit, it was entirely Lionel’s idea -- near as he could figure -- to have the cart of flowers and herbs delivered from Frostmaw to Penelope’s shop in Kelay. In truth, it had been a refugee who despite a rough life had nevertheless taken pity on the man’s lack of self-awareness who had filled the cart and placed it conspicuously close to his quarters. “I’ll just go ahead and take this,” Lionel had said aloud, finding someone to hook the cart to a carriage and then hopping his horse and making the trek himself. It was a trip he knew by heart at this point, but it would be impossible for Lionel to ever not to stay vigil for enemies, which was for the best given that he was alone and pulling a carriage full of flora seventy kilometers southeast.

Once he had finally arrived upon the doorstep of Halifax Roots, Lionel took a deep breath and did the most reasonable thing he could think to do -- he knocked. If Penelope were the one to answer, he would quickly blurt out that all of this was for her. “Hi there,” he would casually say. “Fresh supplies from the frigid frontier.” In fact, even if it were anyone else besides Penelope he would say the same. Unless it was someone impeccably evil. In which case he’d no doubt stab them.

Penelope Halifax felt the same emptiness since the loss of the beloved schizophrenic twin. Kellin Halifax was, very well, the older sibling, and she had grown attached to him after the loss of her parents. The bond that the twins shared was the feeling of unity and an unfamiliar power she had yet to discover. The two were complete once upon a time with the etched octograms on their left wrists. After the death of Pakellin Leroy Halifax, the woman had to learn how to grow and live again alone, but only by her own choice. The only control she had. The healer was working on finding a sense of balance that was difficult to seek. Years had passed. Years had passed without love from her brother; love from a stranger. Linken. Linken was the one who took pieces from her, and with the death became a fickle heart and an independent soul. Innocence disintegrated. Nothing was ever simple as much she convinced herself that that was the life she desired to live. Her thoughts glided into becoming a healer for the sick, having a home for herself, and pursuing as much wisdom as she could to share with strangers. Penelope Halifax wanted to become Yerrel. The simple elven man with the magical capabilities of healing the dying with a small hut and many stories to pass on.

Healing, however, was more complicated than she thought the job would be. Lionel O’Connor made her “simple” life heavy. What was once a friendly encounter with the commander had begun to swirl into a peculiar sensation. A sensation she did not know how to remember. The freckled girl had turned into a stone wall that many had attempted to climb, but never succeeded, and for she was oblivious and if approached, she refrained from. Even Linken did not succeed because the flower that blossomed turned twisted abruptly. She too, revealed many faces on the outside that may or may not have related to what she felt on the inside. The mindset of corruption crept into her head when Lionel approached her. The herbalist would also mask herself around him for both their sake. She would continue to show grace, steadiness, strength, and wittiness. The basics of the workaholic persona she created. He was complicated. She was complicated, and although the two went on one date, there was only surface between them. There was still the sense of opposition, yet he tended to disagree hither and tither. Love was, in fact, hard.

Lanara even said so herself. Love was tricky. The witch, however, wanted what was best for the healer. A companion, although Penelope obliged. Either way, Penelope carried out her days growing with more knowledge each day. Knowledge was what she cherished. What she thrived in and what kept her as full as she could until she reached her downtime in rest, and even then, there were always books before bed. Though, as she dreamt, there was nothing but black and emptiness.

Halifax Roots was quiet this morning and to bite back the chill, she let the doors settle shut. The woman is draped in a simple cream sweater with a plain pair of blue jeans and those snake skin boots. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail with strands forming her visage. The girl was creating a salve that was created for on-the-go adventure. The woman had placed dandelion, lavender oil, yarrow, another yellow oil, and beeswax on the counter. The woman was in the midst of smashing the dandelion with a mortar and pestle when she heard the knock. “We’re open,” the Ardelian’s voice is so soft that she does not realize until Ruari Erickson is turning over his shoulder. “Yell louder, Pennie, damn,” Mr. Erickson says, but instead, she briskly walks towards the door with her ponytail bouncing with delight and she pushes the door open. “Lionel,” she is a little surprised at first until she opens the door all the way to see the cart outside behind him. Her smile grows on her pale lips. “Oh! You shouldn’t have! But you should’ve!” She says in her giddy odd ways. The woman automatically brushes past him to get her nosiness on with what he delivered. The workaholic meant business. “Herbs come here, medical supplies go to Yerrel’s, but I can deliver once we are settled here. I can load up Delilah. It should be safe until I do so,” she then widens her eyes. “You must be chilled,” she then hollers over her shoulder, “Ruari! Get Mr. O’Connor a cup of tea! Not that dandelion crap either! Something with ginger for a little zest!” The dark haired half-elf who appears to be around her age pops his head out. “Ohhh, so this is Lionel. Recognized you before. Brief pass by when you were all huddled on that cot at Yerrel’s for Gods know how long,” he then disappears through the door back inside. Blunt, but true all-the-same.

Lionel was pleased. So far, it seemed that his sudden arrival at Halifax Roots hadn’t caused any disasters. “Penelope,” he stated the healer’s name as she had stated his, smiling. “I’ll make sure supplies get sent to the proper destinations next time -- promise.” At the mention of tea, the Catalian gave both Penelope and Ruari a thumbs-up, and when Erickson spoke Lionel scratched at his scalp. A nervous tick of his that he’d never consciously realized he possessed. “Didn’t exactly meet me under optimal conditions,” he spoke with a laugh. “Well met.” Well met? Lionel was seldom so formal, but that sense of opposition between Penelope and himself seemed to summon it at times. The barriers between them would need to be shattered were they to truly enter into a romantic relationship; even clueless Lionel knew this, and he additionally knew that if he knew something about romance there wasn’t any doubt that everyone else knew it too. “Highlighting it will more than likely make it awkward, but I made the trip myself in order to appear… uh, romantic?” It seemed like the right word. “Getting you supplied is important to me. But delivering it myself felt important to me too somehow.” Thereafter, Lionel sat down and stretched his tired forearms. He had never looked especially strong, and now that Halycanos was out of the picture he no longer felt particularly invincible, either. His constantly on-the-go lifestyle and expertise with the blade still kept him fit, but fit was a relative term and in Lionel’s case it was closer to skinny than brawny. “Speaking of which, I’ve made the arrangements I previously mentioned to set up a routine convoy between Guild HQ and yours and Yerrel’s establishments. So yay! That is a thing.” From ‘well met’ to ‘so yay.’ Lionel was running the gamut on formality versus informality today.

Penelope finds herself backpedaling back into the store with the modern glass windows. She expects him to follow, of course, and while he does, she stops at a few plant buckets to feel the texture of the leaves. Her eyes slowly trace down the leaves until she is staring at his shoes back up to his eyes. Her face sort of looks puzzled. To the workaholic, she automatically assumed business. Awkward indeed, yet she finds herself easing her shoulders. “Well, what better face to show up at the shop,” there is a small little knowing smile on her lips that suggests a bit of coyness. Ruari Erickson is in the back boiling up some water with a cough. “Well, Pennie. I started the water. I’ll go ahead and just take the cart over to Yerrel’s. I link up Delilah,” the dark haired man gives the herbalist a well-to-knowing gaze. Why did everyone want her to date someone? Penelope maneuvers around the counter where Lionel is now across. “Wicked,” she says with a grin. “We definitely appreciate it.” Pause. “So this romantic travel, you say. That’s awfully far. You must really like this chick, eh?” The girl then finds a nearby mortar and pestle to start grounding up ginger that Ruari left on the counter.

/winked knowingly. “I sure do.” He at least had the good graces to understand that telling Penelope he spends most of his life traveling would diminish the quality of the moment. Following her cue, he found two mugs and placed them beside the water and the ginger, and then he set about handling whatever miscellany still remained in order to keep the whole tea project running smoothly. “Have for a while, I reckon, though I can’t say for certain that I realized. On a scale of one to ten, how cheesy would it be right now for me to mention that I truly owe you my heart?” The former Prince of Catal patted his chest dramatically. Outside, a cat-like creature with blue eyes and soft white fur zigzagged on past the window in pursuit of a small, featherless bird. No matter what Lionel said to Penelope today, life would go on, and it was odd comfort to remember that no matter how things went between them, nearly every creature in the world would not give a damn either way. “I’ve learned a great deal about that obelisk we witnessed rising up out of the stream recently. The guild’s got our work cut out for us and we’d love your help. But also, you’re a complete worker ant as-is, and I don’t want to inconvenience you in the least. There’s a meeting coming up if you can set aside the time to join, but afterward I should think it best for you to stay in an advisory position?” He began to question his own statement by the end of the sentence -- would Penelope be upset with him if she weren’t encouraged to go with the Warrior’s Guild on dangerous missions? He hoped not, but he knew how much proving herself meant to the woman.

Penelope smirked with a shake of her head as she began to take out a few jars of different pre-crushed herbs; tossing the herbs in variously in the bowl. Eventually she is putting filter paper over each mug, putting the tea mixture on top and letting the boiling water seep the tea in the mug. She slides the mug over to him. “I rate that a solid six because, although cheesy, you speak truth,” she smirks playfully. She gently circles a finger around the rim of her mug that had a painted dog on it, mind you. “My help?” Beat. “Well, I think I could scratch in a meeting with you and your guild. Although I’m invested, I can always make time for you,” she gives him an easy smile. Take that statement as he will. Business or non-business related. The herbalist tilts her head at his questioning. “Well, why would you need my help then if I’m supposed to stay away? You know, after… the… well, your heart,” she did not know how to word what had happened to him. “I’ve acquired someone to teach me skills—with a weapon,” this sounds odd as the statement flows out her mouth. “Weapons I should say. Y’know, I’m not that girl that you met long ago during the saurian war, Lionel.” Eyes are steady and stern on him, but not offended. “I’m able to hold my own—well, unless you don’t need me. Then, well, it is what it is.”

Lionel understood that Penelope’s self-perceived performance three years ago at the height of the brief but bloody Saurian War weighed heaviest of all in her estimations of skills relevant to Lionel’s adventures. He knew this was the root of it, and it was a tender root at that. Sipping tea from his mug delicious enough to lighten up his face without need for words, he guided the healer back through her own workplace and back over to the chairs. “And I can always make time for you in return.” He grinned a bit; two could play that game. Lionel, also, was uncertain how to word what had happened to his body in the aftermath of the duel to the death with Kahran. The lad had resigned himself to the belief that all that mattered was that his friends stabilized him, and then the woman seated across from him right now sipping delicious tea from her painted dog mug saved his life. Whatever he was going to say before Penelope’s little revelation was erased from memory; she was learning to spar? “Wow!” The exclamation was unable to be suppressed. He whistled, sipping from his tea some more and eyeing the woman appreciatively. Was he expected, then, to learn the ways of the herbalist? ‘No,’ Lionel corrected himself silently, ‘that’s different -- she’s doing this because she feels she needs to.’ “Well, whoever this instructor of yours is, I hope they’re savvy. I’d be happy to work together with you in-between your lessons if you’d like some extra tutelage. In return, you can teach me a bit about the ways of the apothecary.” Aye, it was blurted out now; for whatever the reason, Lionel had decided to go ahead and ask to make a trade of all this after all. Why? He had no earthly idea. Why not, he supposed. “Hey, you know, that’s excellent though. For real. I’m sure you’ll do great. We can watch over one-another smack dab in the midst of all the come-what-mays to come.” To Lionel, the typical domestic disputes over partners feeling overprotective of one-another were foreign concepts; he had gambled with his life for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn’t want any prospective partner of any conceivable variety not to feel welcome fighting beside him as his equal if they so desired. “I guess you really aren’t that girl from three years ago, huh? Color me shocked -- I mean, you’re identically pretty. I hope I don’t bump into her and flirt overmuch…”

Penelope felt an almost punch to the gut at his response in making time for her. The woman follows him now and sits next to him, but she shifts her knees where she faces him straight on. His enthusiasm makes her sort of send color to her face. Only because, well, she was sheepish she was even picking up weapons. Except for the dagger—that was always a basically owned weapon she had. “Krice makes learning comfortable, indeed, although, I know I annoy him from time to time. I don’t think he likes Wilson very much,” who was Wilson? “Or.. the fact that I named my training dummy, but he is so much more, y’know?” Okay, she was a little odd in her own fantasies. The woman sets her mug down and leans her hands on her knees. “That would be great, although, I am –horrible-, but really, different tutors can help me come up with my own skills of handling situations, and I will gladly exchange my skills in return,” the Ardelian takes his frame in with a moments ponder. “Besides, on-the-go medication and first aid is crucial for the stuff you meddle in.” She then inhales and leans back as she grasps the mug to sip on. The two seemed independent all-the-same. The two had separate lives, and seemed to come together in a small harmony when time allowed harmonization between them. “Pfft. That girl from three years ago was a mess. You wouldn’t have liked her very much,” she says in a calm silken tone. Honesty. Truth. Her mug lowers. “I honestly heard rumor that she actually –likes- the flirting. But only from very handsome commanders. She’s a sucker for those, I hear. You should really try it some more. I’m sure she would appreciate it,” she then drinks from her mug again to hide that crooked, knowing smile.

Lionel feigned contemplative silence in keeping with the playful mood. “It’s a shame there’s no secretary present to jot this all down. I’m liable to forget. Might I practice on you instead?” He snickered and slurped his tea. Before he could tempt fate and illustrate the true dearth of flirtatious vocabulary in his mental possession, however, there was a soft knock at the door. Through the glass, a middle-aged man, short of height with a pointed nose and dimpled cheeks, could be espied. Lionel knew this man -- he was a local contact of the commander’s, and a rather talkative one at that. “I’ll get it,” the Catalian said with a slight sigh. His expression wouldn’t have suggested genuine irritation, but rather, a touch of disappointment that his private moment with Penelope had been nixed. “Doubtless One-Tap Kroger here heard-tell that I was on my way here and decided to politely interrupt.” Lionel opened the door and was immediately assaulted by a barrage of hurried speech. “Good, good, good, good, good,” Kroger said, tapping Lionel on the shoulder precisely once in the meantime. “Mesthak said you were due to ship sundry goods to Halifax Roots. Now, I am a stately man, and I do get around, you see, but I could not for the life of me recall how to get here, so I spoke with Mesthak some more and the old coot gave me bad directions, so I stumbled into the forest in the wrong direction!” Inviting himself in at quite the pace for a man of his thickness, Kroger tapped Penelope’s table precisely once, and then he bowed for what seemed to be precisely a single second. “My lady Halifax, your restorative exploits are known to all in the hamlets and hovels surrounding Kelay. ‘Tis an honor. I am One-Tap Kroger, and I am at your service.” The self-imposed guest swiveled around with great gusto. “Now, now, now, now, now, Lionel, I bring news most urgent.” Lionel folded his arms and nodded. “Is this about the earthquakes and obelisks that I asked you to check out? I’ve got Quintessa Dragana studying at various Lithrydelian libraries, so --” And then he was interrupted by Kroger with -- “No, no, no, no, no! ‘Tis not!” Kroger tapped his feet precisely once and then huffed. “Oh, that is lovely-scented tea, by the way, my lady Halifax. Yet I digress! I meander too much! I am here to inform you, prim and posthaste, that there is a slight case of death in one of the aforementioned hamlets, you see; deep in the forest, a small group of settlers have come up with a bit of being dead, terrible thing, and we had been hoping you and yours might resolve to save the other settlers from also being dead…” Kroger wrinkled up his nose and gave Lionel -- and Penelope, for some reason? -- what could almost be described as puppy dog eyes matching those found on Penelope’s painted mug. “That is all, that is all, that is all, that is all; you will find said hamlet at vector 123 by 227,” Kroger was already on his way out, raising precisely one finger and tapping the door with it for no apparent reason to silence any further interjections from Lionel, “and so I say good day, good day is what I say, and pardon the interruption, and I should be thinking about purchasing sweet-scented teas posthaste, though not just yet, as I am a man of much working,” and the strange denizen carried on prattling until he was completely out of sight and into the wooded path. Lionel turned around slowly, sat down with a puzzled look on his face, and shook his head. “This is why I try to limit the number of contacts per region.”

Penelope placed the mug down on the counter and leaned a cheek in her hand. A giddy feeling lingered in her stomach as freckled cheeks could not stop smiling with all the playfulness. “Yes you—“ the soft knock interrupts and her smile is cut short. The workaholic stands abruptly as if she is called for duty, yet Lionel moves first. The healer sort of recovers grace after the flirtation and covers up as if she was just caught in a cookie jar. The woman realized that she was actually enjoying the man’s company. Silently, she stands and observes the visitor with the quirky tendencies. “Why, pleasure, I’m sure,” the woman sort of side eyes Lionel and lets the man take over the conversation. The herbalist listens carefully as One-Tap Kroger speaks. Death. The woman’s face grows rather grim at the thought. “Good day,” is all she manages to say while she processes the information given to the two. She stands there looking through the long windows as the man disappears. Her back still faced the warrior. “Vector 123 by 227,” she repeats before turning around. “Dead by what, though? Illness? Someone attacking the settlers?” Playful Penelope had disappeared entirely, and business her took over. She remains standing. “One-Tap was not very specific, now, was he?”

“He really wasn’t, and he never is,” Lionel muttered. “And what’s more, I have no idea what those numbers of his even mean. But I’ve seen Mesthak chatting about the Kelay-Sage area in technical terms like that before, and I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to learn the technique ourselves?” Lionel stepped up close to Penelope and kissed her forehead calmingly, evidently unaware that some burgeoning couples placed profound importance on the first time one kisses the other. Lionel in a nutshell, really. “This is obviously dire news, but dire news is commonplace for us both. I could use your expertise. If anyone at that hamlet requires medical attention, I can think of no one else I’d trust more, and if I need someone to watch my back we can call that a spar -- I promise we’ll be alright.” The Catalian finished his tea and sighed. “I’d hoped to ask after a second date, but instead we’ve got a full plate all over again. I’ll summon a few guild personnel and we can all go ask Mesthak what in the gods’ names a ‘vector’ is. But in the meantime, thanks for the tea, and you’re, uh, pretty, and… I don’t know.” He froze like a deer in the lamplights. “I have no idea how to end conversations, Penelope. I never have.” His face was blank admission and absolute, comically aloof honesty.

Penelope pauses. “Compass degrees?” The woman would question, but her mind begins to quiet as he approaches her in a gentle kiss towards her forehead. She matches his calm demeanor, although inside, the foreign feeling begins to stir again. “Right, we will ask Mesthak instead of playing the guessing game, so of course I will help you.” His promised words sort of have her face twisted for a moment. “Okay,” she gives in. She trusted him too. “I just appreciate your visiting me in your ‘romantic’ ways,” she snickers and then releases a sigh. The herbalist cants her head at his blank stare. “Conversations with me, at least, never need to be extraordinary, although I appreciate the compliments all the same.” Although the man is not comfortable to the touch, she gently places a hand on his forearm. “A simple ‘see you soon’ will suffice. Even if you won’t,” she says gracefully before pausing to gaze at his aloof expression. “And then,” she would lean into him to press her lips to his own in a tender way. The kiss is long enough to realize what is going on, but brief enough to let him go. “So, see you soon,” she looks at him with that doe-eyed smile.