RP:Rachelle is Bad at Flirting
Summary: Rachelle gets a little help with attempting to woo her crush. Gods know she surely needs it -- she's pretty awful at it.
Kelay Restaurant
Rachelle was seated in the booth by a window, staring out at the torrent of rain. Such a dreary afternoon. She was done with her clients for the day, but now she was more or less trapped here -- it simply wouldn’t do to risk getting mud on her clothes, and they would be such a pain to dry out again. No, she’d have to simply wait out the rain. She tinkered restlessly with those tiny runed stones from her bag, wondering what it would take to enchant the skies of Kelay to never have such a downpour at this time. It was probably more difficult than even she could manage. The weather would serve no master, alas.
Krice unwittingly passed right through Rachelle's line of sight as he stepped under the restauran'ts overhang to seek shelter; he wasn't desperate for cover, given his drenched state, but he knew that he'd have to dry out at least a -little- bit before he could enter the restaurant. With his back to Rachelle, and standing just a metre to the right of directly in -front- of her, he leaned over slightly and grabbed at his long hair, bunching it between both hands to squeeze out excess rain water. His black attire hugged his toned form unforgivingly, sticky and uncomfortable, but there was little he could do about that save disrobe; something Rachelle would no doubt enjoy, but he wasn't an exhibitionist. And people in Kelay respected him.
Rachelle froze. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. She watched a little longer before covering her mouth to barely stifle a gasp -- it -was-. Krice. That strange and mysterious man that had taken up residence on the edges of her thoughts. And now he was soaking and… oh my. Don’t stare, Rachelle, don’t stare. She reached for her long-forgotten teacup and elected to watch him from behind it. Totally not staring, nope. Just drinking this cold tea without ever draining more from the cup. Yep. Everything here is perfectly normal. Totally.
Krice seemed completely oblivious to Rachelle's stalker shenanigans, so much so that as he pulled at the corner of his shirt to wring it dry, he showed her the strong curve of his left hip bone, and some back muscle, without any apparent knowledge that he was potentially furthering her passion. Water dribbled from the twisted black fabric, trickling between his fingers before drifting into the current of the still-falling rain. Clearly he had been caught unexpectedly in the downpour. Deciding that some hair and shirt-wringing were not enough to grant him entry into the restaurant, the warrior moved just enough away from the window that he could lean against the brick outer wall and wait in relative comfort, folding both arms over his chest. Around his left elbow, the one still visible to Rachelle, the enigmatic man curled his right hand, gripping the joint and discreetly massaging into it with his thumb. This rainstorm sure had crap timing; he was hungry, and he could smell fresh-baked pastries waiting to be eaten. Sigh.
Rachelle’s lips twisted in disappointment. Her free show had ended, and so soon after it had begun. A mere elbow wasn’t going to do anything for her fantasies, that much was for sure. And . so she turned around, hailing a waiter as soon as she caught sight of one. “Could you bring me your sandwich of the day? Many thanks.” She had no clue what the man might like to eat, but her father -did- always say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and so it was worth a shot. Soon enough, the waiter returned, and Rachelle took the sandwich and poked her head outside, a distrustful gaze given to the overhang above before she stepped just barely beyond the door. “Hello again, Krice.” She thrust the sandwich out towards him and clung to the threshold with her free hand. Even -he- wasn’t worth getting her fine clothes drenched.
Krice didn't turn his head when the restaurant door opened; people came and went all the time - and this was obviously one of the 'goers', since no one had passed him to be an arrival. But just a moment later, before any words were spoken, he lifted his chin at a slight angle as if catching a hint of something in the air, and then turned his head to glance toward the restaurant door, past his left shoulder - and the katana hilt there; he had caught her scent and reacted accordingly. Only a moment later, the warrior noticed that sandwich in her hands and gazed at it. What was on it? Salads? Meats? When the gold-freckled eyes of the warrior returned to Rachelle's face, he adopted a smirk and asked, " What're you doing?" It was gentle, not judgmental, and spoke of his confusion over her behaviour. Who hangs from door frames and holds sandwiches out in the rain?
“What am I--?” Rachelle stammered with a hint of indignance. What did he -think- she was doing? She was trying to be nice. Obviously. “Well, I’d assumed you’d showed up here due to hunger like anyone else, but I can always take it back inside and eat the darn thing myself if I am mistaken.” Well, that wasn’t true at all. She was quite full.
Krice glanced at the sandwich again, and then back up at Rachelle. Through damp lashes extended by rain, the warrior clarified his meaning. " I mean... You're gonna catch the rain." The rain was blowing somewhat straight, and would only bother Rachelle's attire and hair if it swept toward her on an angular breeze." Thank for the sandwich, but get inside. This rainfall is heavy." He had to speak a little louder than usual to ensure that he was heard, courtesy of the consistent downpour.
Rachelle frowned a little. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this wasn’t quite it. “Yes. Of course. I can see that.” There was an awkward beat as she still lingered, the sandwich still in her outstretched hand. All that effort and risk of rain for nothing, hmm? Fine then. “You’re welcome,” Rachelle replied, barely restraining the annoyed huff that wanted to follow, and slunk back to her table. She stared down the sandwich and her frown deepened. Krice was a tough fish to catch.
Krice likewise seemed perplexed by Rachelle, but only showed it when she had turned away and couldn't see; his brows wrinkled inward, a bemused expression taking hold of his face. Clearly he couldn't say anything right around that woman, for it was almost every time he spoke that she ended up annoyed or curt with him. The warrior turned his gaze away from Rachelle as the door between them swung closed once more, watching the street of Kelay go by. Behind him and without him seeing the exchange, one of the waitresses arrived at Rachelle's table with a brown paper bag, in which was stored two freshly-baked apple pastries. She smiled at the sandwich-staring woman and murmured, " He likes these. It's almost the only thing he ever orders."
Rachelle let loose an “Eep!” and turned crimson. They’d been watching her?! Oh, for the love of Arkhen. Everyone was going to know where her sights were set -except- Krice, at this rate. Meekly, she accepted the pastries with hushed thanks, peeked into the bag, and switched to staring at those instead as the waitress departed. Now, she supposed, the question was if she should duck back out and offer the pastries to the black-clad man instead. It would be a bit odd if she just kept showing up and shoving food in his direction, wouldn’t it? But, he seemed fairly odd himself. Maybe ‘odd’ wasn’t a bad thing. And round and round her mind went, questioning what to do next and wasting precious time doing nothing at all.
Krice actually -wanted- to undress, on second thought; wet clothes were uncomfortable, and felt... confining. It appeared as though he released a sigh, for his broad shoulders rose and fell and then he turned his head to glance westward, watching the clouds roll in overhead. Slowly the rain began to ease, and he observed the lessening droplets with thoughtfulness in his eyes. Rachelle would be able to see the profile of his chiseled face if she looked up from those fresh--but not for long if she only stared at them--pastries. In the edge of his vision, the silver-haired man caught sight of the pondering woman and turned just a little more to glance at her through the restaurant door - and then lower, to the paper bag in her hands. After squinting in contemplation, and coming to the conclusion that not many treats in the place were stored in bags like -that-, and therefore that they must be apple pastries of pastries of -some- description, the warrior squinted in suspicion but did not stare, turning his focus outward onto the street once more. Given all of his efforts to get dry, it would have been foolish for him to venture out into the rain while it still fell. It had now ceased, however, and the man moved eastward away from the restaurant, out of Rachelle's line of sight. Perhaps he didn't want anything to eat, after all.
Rachelle was torn from her indecision by the departure of the very man she was trying so hard to reel in. In a panic, she took off after him, grabbing her things and the pastry bag but leaving the sandwich untouched. “Oi! Wait just a moment!” And then she drew near to him and started stammering again. This damned tongue of hers -- it always knew precisely when not to cooperate. “You, er... the waitress, she… Here.” She shoved the bag into his hands and ran off in completely the opposite direction without so much as a goodbye.
Krice slowed when he heard that 'oi', and although he and Rachelle weren't well acquainted, he could tell that it was her voice. He glanced over a shoulder to see her approaching him, at which point he stopped and turned to hear her face-on. With the pastry bag shoved at him, he lifted a hand subconsciously to catch it against his chest, fingers splayed, and watched in bemusement as the woman turned to run away. Was he really so scary? Lifting his chin, he called before she could get too far, " Thanks." It took him a moment to register the oddity of the woman--though really, he should have been expecting it at this point--before he turned to continued eastward, gazing into the pastry bag at the foodstuffs within.