RP:Explain Like I'm Five: Relationships Edition

Summary: Lionel and Penelope finally have a chance to discuss their feelings. Unfortunately, they hardly know how. A "Hudson Landon" type Lionel is not.

Healer's Hut

Penelope :: Two worlds remained out-of-sync which left questions unanswered. With people swiveling in and out of the hut, there was never a chance to speak about the thick air that was lingering between the warrior and the herbalist. Days passed and the Soiree Ball took place and Penelope Halifax danced into oblivion too keep the question pushed deep down where her mind could not find it. Perhaps the wounded warrior’s question was a hallucination. The herbalist, however, did not need to fret, for there were heavier problems at-hand. The metallic-armed elf. After the Soiree, she had promised death before she would let Linken die and be taken away from his adopted children. Possible love that floated within the air was now dwindling into something almost fickle. The day is new after the ball and the girl is feeling mixed, yet she feels like she would freshen her mind if she wakes the blonde who rests in the cot at Yerrel’s hut. A therapeutic walk to get his limbs to stretch out. The healer walks through the door of the hut with her black pixie-cut slacks and a silken white, t-shirt sleeved, button-up with her black chunky loafers. “Rise and shine! The air is crisp, the snow is trying to melt, and you need to get on your feet,” she is chipper when crossing into the hut’s atmosphere. She nears the man’s cot and sits down on the end of the bedside next to him.

Lionel didn’t need to be told twice, really. He was beginning to dislike his cot as if the furnishing were another Dark Immortal. No sooner had Penelope Halifax sat down next to him than the Catalian sprang to his feet, and even the herbalist would likely notice that he didn’t seem to be overextending himself to do so. His wounds were healing up quite well now thanks to Penelope’s expertise, and he was damn sure going to prove it to her. Tossing a white silk shirt over himself and buttoning it up just so -- there wasn’t much by way of blacks on-hand, unfortunately -- Lionel fussed with his hair a bit and stretched. For all Penelope’s recent adventures, from the ones he knew about to the ones he hadn’t the faintest idea about, Lionel had been kept idle far beyond the limits of his very active, very stubborn mind. “I just realized something. Without Halycanos, I’m going to feel the cold air on my face in a way I never have.” He flashed her an innocent grin. “That is, as the kids say, hella exciting.” Without further ado, Lionel led the way into the wilderness.

Penelope grinned as he jolted up automatically. “Wow, pep in your step this morning,” she exclaims before standing up after briefly sitting for a solid second. Moss eyes observe his movements and she is fully content with his healing process. Perhaps today was finally the day to set him free, however, to be sure, she would make sure his walking stability was okay and at the end of their session, she would make sure to check his heart. As he slips his shirt on, she moves to grab a nearby stethoscope to wrap around her neck for after the trek. She turns and that smile still remains on her freckled-dusted face. “Prepare for possible numbness, it’s not too bad, but I recommend maybe ear muffs and a scarf to cover your face for the future winters,” she teases and follows right behind out into the day. The forest is quiet around the two buildings that near each other. The only sounds are crunching sticks and leaves and the sound of horses neighing in the distance. Delilah, Penelope’s horse, and Yerrel’s steed, Bernie—the herbalist’s choice in name. “So,” her hands play with the stethoscope that is around her neck idly. “How does the ‘hella exciting’ air feel? You know, you never told me much about your history with Halycanos. I only get word through the grapevines these days. The amazing Sir Lionel O’Connor,” her hands open in the air in a jazzy, lightly playful fashion.

Lionel wondered if the fresh wintry air was perhaps the most enjoyable thing he had ever felt. All those days and nights in Frostmaw and he’d never been able to experience them for true. When he’d said as much to his peers, they’d all laughed and said he ought to be thankful for it. Lionel’s ability to withstand the cold had made him as perfect a fit as a human could be in a land of frost giants ruled by a dragon queen. It had kept him alive more times than he could count, both before and after Frostmaw. It had been one of his best abilities, and now it was gone. The splendid feeling of the snowy Northern Sage felt a little less splendid upon that thought. “It feels good,” Lionel spoke solemnly, his smile fading slightly and his expressive eyes a touch downcast. “Sorry, the Halycanos thing is… well, it was always a difficult subject. You haven’t heard much about him, but few ever did. I was fifteen when I first came to Lithrydel, several years after the regicide in Catal sent me on my merry way.” The deaths of his parents, he meant, though all of that was so long ago that he barely cracked in saying it. “A few days later, I met an alchemist named Griff Morivan who had found a pair of magic stones and wanted to forge swords out of them. Little did any of us know that one of those stones was the resting place of an Ishaarite fire spirit -- Halycanos,” Lionel said with a nod. “For a while there it was… dicey. We’ll go with dicey. Halycanos latched on to me through the forged blade, Hellfire -- hey, I was a dramatic youth, okay? -- and sought to possess me. Bit by bit, he succeeded. The story of how he and I came to see eye-to-eye is another tale for another day, but suffice it to say it happened. Over time, I learned the fate of his homeland -- of Ishaara. There were elves there, elves who coexisted in harmony with a race of spirits. Halycanos’ people. As the elves built an empire, and coexistence turned to slavery, the spirits were all but wiped out. The elven empire fell in a great cataclysm, a final solution by the remaining spirits. To the best of my knowledge, not a soul remained, elven or spirit, save for the slumbering Halycanos in that stone. Through the years, Halycanos and I, his persona within me and throughout Hellfire itself, we accomplished everything you’ve ever heard about. Now he’s gone.” The cold began to sting.

Penelope listened quietly to the story of Halycanos, her eyes were fixated on him for the most part, occasionally staring at the frozen ground below them before blinking back to him. She notices his nose start to form a very faint pink color, and she sort of smiles at the thought. The wander around the outside of the hut to do a lap. “Fifteen is normally the age of dramatics,” she almost snickers, but she holds her tongue respectfully for his story. “You’ve been through quite a journey and it seems he has too,” she says very softly this time before looking forward. “I could imagine that sense of loss feels pretty empty right about now, especially when you have grown to lean on each other. Does the silence sound deafening?” Her mind reflects down to the tattoo that etches her wrist of the octogram tattoo held her once twin bondage, but her eyes almost look as if they are staring at the ground instead. She peers at him again. “Like I said when you woke up, you learn to become a new you. An individual that does not need another to define them, even though a huge part of your existence.” They come around the loop of the hut and she stops in place. He appears to be walking normally with no amount of strain. Her stethoscope comes around her neck. “Mind if I check your rates?”

Lionel nodded a few times as they walked, the healer’s perspective on his story shining new light on things. He hadn’t yet thought about the silence. Patients chattered; Penelope chattered; birds chirped; the wind blew; today more than any other day since the battle, there were so many sounds. Snow crunching underfoot. But she wasn’t wrong. There was silence in the sound and it was strange, surreal, and utterly disquieting. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, I suppose it is.” A new him? A new Lionel? She was right about that as well. He felt Halycanos’ passing, and it hurt something fierce, but the rest of him was vital and whole and free. Not since he was a boy had Lionel ever felt this weight off his shoulders and out of his heart. “The irony, I think, is that without Halycanos I’ll never be able to speed my way through a warzone in seconds again, fiery streaks left in my wake… and yet somehow I feel faster now. That’s strange, isn’t it? By all means, check my rates.” He laughed. The cold felt better now.

Penelope would shrug at his observation. “A weight was tied to you, you feel lighter in step for a reason,” she smiles ever-so-brightly with unpainted lips. The woman places the plugs of the stethoscope in her ears. “Not to be rude, or force you to retire or anything like that, but I request, as your physician that you take a solid battlefield break. Learn new strategies before you just go ahead and charge yourself forward,” she smirks, and then looks at him innocently if he does not like her words. “Just sayin’,” she holds up her hands defensively. As he gives her the permission, she inched near him. He was almost a whole foot taller than her. The woman would place the diaphragm drum over his chest to listen to any chance of murmur and the smell of lavender would waft off her arms. “Big inhale and exhale,” her tone reveals silken grace. Ease. His heart was strong, once again. The medicines had worked their charm, Yerrel’s mending had done the same. Lionel’s ticker seemed to be on track so far, however, she would have to check his back, as well, for different angles, and she would do so. As she circles him, she repeats the process for steady breathing, and eventually she makes her rounds before standing in front of him again. “You sir, are in a lot better shape, and you, thankfully, will not need to be cooped any longer. You are free to be you and roam wherever your now beating, strong heart wants you to go,” the healer grins up at him with pride.

Lionel was lost in thought as he breathed. He’d given Penelope another of his smirks at her request that he stay off the battlefield for a time; whether that was a yes or a no was deliberately vague, even though he knew she was right yet again. She had a real knack for that, didn’t she? Deep breathing was coming to the Catalian as easily as it had before Kahran -- no, better somehow. Looser. More focused. “No more sir,” Lionel protested with a fake whimper. “Sir this! Sir that. Sir Lionel O’Connor. No one calls me that, you know!” He paused, placing an index finger to his cold cheek in thought. “Okay, that’s not true. But in my defense, Rorin’s just young and confused. And Queen Hildegarde’s a dragon. You know how dragons are with their titles. No one -else- calls me that. Well, except you. But three people does not a pattern make! I’m just Lionel. Hell, some days I used to wonder if I was even that much. And, well, now I’m rambling, and who even knows why? Well, I guess I know why.” He paused again, this time for breath. “I’m stalling, Penelope. You see, I’m of two minds here, and for once that has nothing to do with Ishaara. Going out there?” He gestured beyond the treeline. “Smacking bad guys?” With what sword? A query for later; he ignored the question for now. “Fighting the good fight and whatever? Roaming -- that’s the core of it -- I love roaming. I want to continue doing that. I need to continue doing that. It’s me, the essence therein, even now. But, well, there’s this other thing.” He scrunched up his nose and glanced around at snow, twigs, a stray fox, whatever his azure eyes could find. “Remember when I said we should go on a date or something? Fool question, I’m sure; your memory’s sharp and I see it when I look at you. You remember. I meant it then and I mean it now. I don’t know the second thing about dates, really, and the first thing? People go on them. But you know, I like you. Like, a fair degree?” Lionel looked at Penelope now. “On a scale of 1 to 10, it’s in the uppermost quartile, yep. And if I go and I roam, if I leave here tonight without getting this off the chest you yourself patched back up all neat and tidy-like, then I’m making a mistake.”

Penelope tilted her head at his backlash response, although softer than an actual aggressive one. Her stare is blank and doe-eyed, but the humor remains in her mind heavily. He amuses her, and she refuses to let the quizzicality show, for she is now behind him. She lets him spill out the words that were trapped inside of him, and she remained a listener for him. The woman now remains face to face with him. This is truly the moment that she takes note of his features, his azure colored eyes, his height, the blonde hair, the sputtering of awkward word-vomit that admitted feelings that were ever so remote to her. His furrowed brow while looking for other distractions. He was right, she was witty and observant. Her wits were her greatest asset toward any situation. The frizzy-haired girl new exactly that he would bring up the term ‘dating’ again. Moss eyes dance about his azure gaze that stares back at her. The unfamiliar feeling boils within her stomach again from the night when he had tried to ask her out, but she remains cool and collected. The opposite of what he seems to be in this very moment. The thought of watching him squirm sort of entertains her even more. The woman lets silence dawn over them. She was patient. Very, very patient with her words when she wanted to be. “I used to call Yerrel sir,” what? After all of the confession, really? First rule about Penelope Halifax, she takes her time. “Lionel it is,” she comes to terms with his name. There is a warm feeling in her back, and she has yet to figure out what the sensation meant. “I remember. I remember a lot of things,” she says and she lets the air hang again for a moment or two before continuing. “I remember being by your side, I remember you thinking that I was a saving… how did Lanara put it? Dark angel?” She shakes her head at the embarrassing compliment given by the witch. “I’m not that, Lionel. You want to go on a date with me,” the words are foreign on her tongue. “It won’t be that. I won’t always hold that much power. We have two separate lives. You’re hardcore and fearless. A proud and idolized warrior, and I’m simple,” she then holds up a finger in demand so he does not comment yet on her plain term. “And that is not a bash on my part. I have a lot to give, but it just means I’m meant to live the calm life by taking care of others. I look at you and I think you’re blinded by what happened on the field which sets the bar too high on that scale of yours,” perhaps she was the one who was blind. “I don’t know a single thing about dates either, I just know that—never mind. That’s not important,” she wanted to bring up her corrupted past, but she remains silent on that aspect of her life. It was important. It was the whole reason she was weary. Gazing at him makes her nervous in a good way, but she clearly does not let this show. It would take a bit to budge Penelope to start mingling again. “Lionel, I’m scared that I am truly just your fantasy bucket list that is already etched in your brain. Normally fantasies are just... fantasies. We are talking reality." This was not a rejection, only skepticism.

Lionel wasn’t very good at all this. Whatever this even was! Regardless, he knew it was not his forte. Yet there was healthy relief in seeing that it wasn’t Penelope’s, either. That was good. He wondered whether he should have felt more unsettled and defeated in the momentary silence which followed. He felt rejuvenated instead. Bolder. Penelope had been open with him -- about herself, about her perspective of him. Lionel could tell there was something in there she was holding back, but now wasn’t the time to push. The subject remained; the prospective date. That was more than enough heft. Should he have replied to multiple pieces of Penelope’s soliloquy? Or should he focus on the last of it? These were difficult questions which only served to highlight Lionel’s inexperience. He wiggled his toes inside his shoes, bit his lower lip just gently enough to feel something, anything, took another deep breath and responded. “Yeah, the bucket list line was… I don’t exactly have a way with words, you know. I couldn’t think of what else to label it in the heat of it all. I was about to march to my death. Didn’t want to affix you with some half-cocked overlong filibuster-type speech about the sun, the moon, the stars, and you.” He coughed. “As you can see, I wouldn’t have been very good at it anyway.” He flashed a smile. “You’ve been here with me through thick and thin. You say we live these two entirely separate lives… but I just don’t see it. We both want to help people. We do so in different ways. And honestly, I think I’d prefer your way; at least in saving lives directly you’ve never been accused by a whole city’s population of blowing it up.” Vailkrin -- touchy subject. “But I digress. It’s not some mere fantasy. Or if it is, then we live in naught but a fantasy world. A dark fantasy, a high fantasy, I can’t say. It seems to fluctuate, doesn’t it?” Finger to the cheek again. “Weird, that. Anyway. Reality. Yep. We are indeed speaking realtalk. Penelope, I don’t want to be alone forever. It’s a recent revelation, but methinks an important one. And I have never, not once, -not- wanted to come ‘home’ to you. I think that counts for something in this high dark fantasy world of ours.”

Penelope’s heart began to flutter as he began to respond back to her openness about the situation at hand. What was he going to say? The man keeps pushing forward to nudge the weary woman. Love had disfigured her in the past. Love turned to bloodshed. Perhaps she was living in her own comforting bubble. She smiles at his correction. “I get the romance behind it all, after all… we were in high moment of your predictable death. I… I liked it. Err—the kiss, I mean. And I hate cheesy speeches, as you can tell already.” The girl is a little sheepish. Finally admitting that their lips met and that happened. Two awkward souls. The woman then gained her poise and turned back to the settled gaze she always tried to maintain. His smile is charming and throws her off-guard for a moment to remember what they were talking about. A small movement of her shoulders relax at his thoughts on their two lives besides the Vailkrin part, she would cant her head to that one. He wanted to be more invested in her own. Care more about the people. She continues to let him speak, and the thread that is tightened around her fickle heart begins to budge just an inch to give some slack. Did she want to be alone? Well, that was why she had Yerrel, right? Had she never thought about it after Linken destroyed her? Kids? A family? The thought was too fast of a whirlwind especially since she had just admitted to give her life away if she needed to to the elf, Linken, who had come back into her life with the dark entity. The woman fidgets and lets Lionel linger yet again as she thinks about his words. ‘I have never, not once, -not- wanted to come ‘home’ to you’. More thread unravels a tiny bit. Very true. Their world had been a dark fantasy. “I…” a hand moves a strand that lingers in her freckled face. “So you want to consider coming home to me,” her eyes look lazily at him while she pieces her thoughts together. Would it be so bad trying? She could always back out. How do you date? “I recommend not a lunch date, I heard from people talk that those should be out of romantic question—or whatever it means,” she furrows her brows in the odd thought. Was that a yes? This sounded like a yes.

Lionel had to pause again after that one. Penelope liking the kiss; that seemed like good news. No, further reflection… it was definitely good news. It would have bad news if she felt neutral on it, and worse news if she had disliked it. Lionel was very bad at this; he knew it well. But if he pieced things together, bit by bit, centimeter by centimeter, he could break down what mattered most and keep up with the conversation. At least with someone else who shared his confusion about how any of this ought to have worked. Doubtless, all of this simplicity would have faded instantly if the Catalian had known about Linken. A difficult subject for a later time, it seemed. “Lunch date is out of the question, then.” He nodded along, wishing he’d brought a notebook outside in order to scribble things as they sussed out the finer points of dating. “I’m not sure about beaches. I think people go on dates at beaches. But you know, a lot of monsters crawl out of beaches. Sahagins, for one. Sharks. Killer octopi. Even clams.” No lunch dates. No beaches. “What about a horseback ride? As in, a ride on horseback. Down some nice trail somewhere. What about bandits, though? Or holdouts from Kahran’s armies. Or razurath? Do they still exist? I’m so fuzzy on the details on that front.” Absentmindedly scratching at his thin bits of facial hair, Lionel continued. “We could ride into the woods instead. That way we’d be able to see the enemy before they strike. And then we could have a picnic somewhere in the forest. Somewhere nice.” Birds chirped overhead. “With birds chirping overhead.” The cool breeze still felt pleasant. “A cool and pleasant breeze.” The fireplace inside the hut was nevertheless inviting. “A nice wooden fireplace afterward.” Lionel blinked, looked around, and shrugged. “Do people have to actually -go- places for dates? How’s that work?” Seven hells, this was hard.

Penelope nodded along to his observations about the beach. She liked the beach, but he was mostly scarred from being injured from the seas. Also, sand in the feet, depended on the weather. Perhaps a later date. He then talks of horseback and the dangers of what rely within the forest. Her eyes begin to go flat at his analyzation of this all. “Lionel,” she says softly to get his attention. “You’re thinking too hard now,” she begins to laugh gently before nearing him. “I say horseback, with a forest, and a picnic with a fire sounds great. Though, there is no –rule- that says you have to –go- places. There’s simply evening dinners in one stationary spots. A little wine. Honestly, I’ll leave it up to you to ponder,” she then smiles slyly. “And surprise me. I’m sure you won’t disappoint. After all, you never have,” for her, at least. “Until then, keep your slate of a mind clear. I do like you for you, don’t I?” That was obvious. The woman then leans up on her toes to graze her lips against his cold cheek gently, giving him a peck on his cheekbone. “I’ll see you then,” she then lowers before backing off to move gracefully to the warm hut.