RP:Rachelle is Bad at Lying

From HollowWiki

Summary: Rachelle bumps into Krice again, and creates a flimsy lie in order to spend more time with him, because she's kind of ridiculous.

Kelay

Krice moved through Kelay at an unhurried pace, from the west to the east, dressed in his usual black garb with the collar open and sleeves rolled to his elbows. He seemed calm and focused on the path ahead, his movements masculine yet graceful, an air of regality amid the vision he made of a capable and unyielding warrior; strong, and solid. People passing him often gifted him with smiles or nods of familiarity, the occasional citizen greeting him by name, though conversations never blossomed beyond that. He was perfectly comfortable in the silences that stretched between greetings, never once initiating engagement with the inhabitants of Kelay.


Rachelle was on her way back to her home with heavy bags from the day’s shopping haul (clothes! Jewelry! More reagents for her enchantments!) when she saw -him- again. That man. The one with the hair. And the backside. Yes. She was seeing his front now, though, and found herself no less impressed than before. Yes, she fantasized, he would indeed be the type to sweep her off her feet and carry her into the sunset like all those fairy tales. Ah, so romantic. Rachelle set her gaze elsewhere as the man neared, allegedly very interested in some storefront or other, and set herself on a collision course with the man. They’d -have- to strike up a conversation then, wouldn’t they? Oh, she could hear her wedding bells already.


Krice hadn't bought anything, by all appearances; the only thing he carried atop his worn clothing was that ever-present katana, strapped securely to his back with the hilt extending past his left shoulder. As he and Rachelle neared one another, he didn't seem particularly intrigued by her, giving her not an ounce more time than he expressed toward the other passersby. An older man bumped into his left shoulder and he turned slightly to catch the stranger's earnest apology, in turn disregarding it with polite reassurances that he was not bothered by the impact. This consequently put his opposite shoulder on a collision course with Kamikaze-Rachelle and he felt her hit the length of his arm before he could adjust the angle of his body. Unfortunately, solid as the warrior was, he merely twitched from the impact where Rachelle might have fared worse, and immediately he shifted his gold-streaked gaze to regard her. If she teetered on her feet, the enigmatic man would reach out, take an elbow, and right her before she could faceplant in the street. If she was composed and without groundward travels impending, he'd keep his hands to himself. Either way, his smooth voice broke the busy hum of Kelay's main thoroughfare to utter an apology. " Sorry 'bout that."


Rachelle was usually graceful and coordinated, no matter her footwear. A lady must always mind her surroundings and the earth beneath her feet, or so she’d been taught. But -he- didn’t need to know that. She did indeed stumble (Step One to being swept off your feet: gentlemen cannot resist a damsel in distress!) and the wave of heat that flashed through her mind as the man righted her brought color to her cheeks and a stammer to her words. “O-oh, um, yes, well. The fault’s all mine. I should look where I’m going.” She fully expected him to insist that, no, it was indeed his fault. It was only proper. She readjusted her grip on her bags to check that she hadn’t dropped anything, then, awkwardly, twisted a strand of her curls with the one finger she had to spare. Step Two: a gentleman goes weak in the knees for a woman playing coy with her hair.


Krice withdrew his hand from Rachelle's arm the moment she was right on her feet, the touch lasting only as long as was necessary. With his hand once more down at his side, and the man himself reassured that she wasn't going to stumble from this point on - as long as she stood still, anyway -, he focused on the words she spoke. Dipping his head, the warrior nodded in acceptance of Rachelle's words and unwittingly bypassed that numberless step of self-blame-placing to state, " Be careful. Kelay's a pretty peaceful place, but not everyone is as forgiving." As she twirled her hair, Krice's gaze drifted to the offending finger only briefly and something in his expression softened, or changed, or shifted in -some- way too minor to discern. He dipped his head again, faring the woman well with a wordless nod of goodbye.


Rachelle’s expression soured the further the man got. No insisting that it was indeed his fault? No being so immediately consumed by her beauty that he offered a date immediately? (She’s really quite average looking, but shh, don’t tell Rachelle that.) She’d watch him go, and stamp a foot in displeasure. Maybe he was taken. Maybe he was -- ? No, no, he couldn’t be gay. Not with -those- looks. It would be a tragedy of the highest order -- and Rachelle knew a thing or two about tragedy. Hmph. She would simply have to return home to scheme for the next time she met the man.


Krice stopped after only a few steps and turned to glance over a shoulder at Rachelle once more. A few steps into her -own- retreat, she would hear his voice over the crowd as he called for her attention. " Hey," he began, lifting up his hand to shine a beautiful silver brooch in her direction. " Did you drop this?"


Rachelle pivoted on a heel, her face carefully arranged into a mildly surprised configuration. -Did- she drop that brooch? She paced back towards the man, but quickly realized -- no. No, she did not. It was an awful thing in her eyes, not at all to her tastes. And, obviously, her tastes were impeccable. But… “Why, yes!” she replied, taking another few steps forward until she was standing right next to the man again, flashing him a broad smile. “Clumsy me. Thank you for finding it, Mr. …?”


Krice waited for Rachelle to near him before he reached out, her answer in the affirmative all he needed to pass the brooch onto her. Not without bemusement, however. He furrowed a brow and answered with an introduction first. " Krice." And then, squinting slightly, he glanced between the brooch and the woman before murmuring a quizzical, " Really? Doesn't suit you." At all. Saving the woman potential grief by -not- uttering that elaboration, the warrior lowered his hand to his side once more and scrutinized the jewelry.


Drat. He called her bluff. She curled her fingers around the brooch, careful not to let the smile fade and give her away. “Master Krice.” A curtsy. “Rachelle Fournier, enchantress. And, enchanted.” She dared a wink. “You’ve a keen eye.” -Too- keen, maybe. “It’s actually a recent gift from a friend. Our tastes, ah, diverge a fair bit.” To say the least. “But I thought I might run into her today, and I didn’t want to be rude, so...” Yes. Flawless lie.


Krice 's left eye narrowed slightly at Rachelle's choice of title for him, something that didn't seem to sit well. In response to her curtsey, and flirtatious reply, the man simply dipped his head, the gesture lacking fancy pomp and ceremony, but respectful all the same. As people continued on their way, passing by the conversing pair, the warrior kept his eyes on the woman before him, listening attentively to her reply without any obvious consideration to it being a lie. Apparently roped in, he asked, " Didn't want to be rude by not wearing it?"


“Yes! Exactly. You understand.” It was then that Rachelle realized her predicament -- with everything she was carrying, there was no way she’d be able to pin the damned thing to her dress. Well, that was as good an excuse as any for further contact. “Er, speaking of which, I’d better get it back on, but I’m afraid my hands are quite full. Would you mind fastening the thing for me? Below the collarbone is fine, if you’d be so kind.” And while your hands are there, maybe you could… no. Bad Rachelle. Pure thoughts.


Krice lifted his chin slightly as Rachelle requested his assistance with the brooch, her instructions doing little to earn the warrior's acquiescence. Rather, he went opposite to her wish and asked, with a brow arched in skepticism, " Or, I could hold your bags while -you- pin the brooch?" Was he playing a game? Dancing a waltz of avoidance cat-and-mouse with the woman? Did he detect her attempts to mislead him or was he simply reticent to touch her more than was necessary?


“Er…” That smile faded but an instant and was quickly renewed. He would be a hard one to catch, wouldn’t he? Fiddlesticks. “Y-yes, of course, I suppose that works as well. Better, even, maybe. Would you please?” She’d shift the weight of her burden again, extending it towards him should he actually be willing to take it.


Krice lifted his left hand to take the parcels as offered. With the handle sitting neatly across his palm, he closed his fingers around it and straightened his elbow once more, something in the action evoking a wince across the warrior's face. He turned his gaze elsewhere, his profile flanked by long, concealing silver hair, and pressed his lips into a thin line to refrain from further sounds of discomfort. Coolly, he transferred the bags to his right hand and held them between himself and Rachelle as she presumably pinned the brooch to her clothing.


Rachelle was enthralled by the man, sure, but moreso she was concerned with presenting her best self to him. So she was too caught up in her own appearance and fidgeting with the brooch’s placement (is there any angle I can turn this so it -doesn’t- look ugly?) to notice the man’s apparent injury. “Right. There. Ahem.” She gestured, then grimaced mildly. “Hopefully this is only for a week or two, and then she’ll forget about it and I can move on to other things.” Her arms outstretched again to take her bags back. “Thank you, kind sir.”


Krice's injury settled in the time it took Rachelle to pin that brooch to her clothes, thankfully for him. His usual calm self once more (not that the injury had impacted his outward behaviour too obviously), the warrior lifted the parcels and returned them to Rachelle, his fingers splaying above hers in such a way that contact was unavoidable, but minimised as much as possible. Did he truly find her so repulsive? Surely not. In response to her gratitude, he shook his head slightly and clarified, " Just 'Krice'. No 'sir', no 'master' - none of that." A beat. " And yeah - no problem."


Rachelle hugged her day’s shopping haul to her chest. “Ahem. Just Krice, then.” This was the part where they parted ways, yes? Oh no. Panic. Say something, Rachelle. He must sweep you off his feet. It is his gentlemanly duty, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. “Y-you must come by my place sometime. The blue house, corner of North Sage and Painter’s Way. It is only proper that I thank a man such as yourself with some of my cooking.” She paused a beat, trying to assess what foods might draw the man to accept. “Dinner. Tea. Er, cakes, perhaps?” Oh dear. Was she being too forward? She was being too forward. That blush returned to her cheeks, and she cursed it.


Krice was just about to turn, had even pulled a foot back, when Rachelle spoke again. He halted and regarded her with a quizzical stare, his left brow slightly lower than the other. Instead of outright refusing or accepting the offer, he spoke a bewildered, " I really didn't do anything worth such thanks."


“Oh, but you did,” Rachelle improvised, taking a step forward to match his retreat. She glanced at those citizens surrounding them before leaning further towards him, a conspiratorial tone to her actions. “You don’t understand. I should never have heard the end of it if the brooch had vanished. Never.”


Krice wasn't moving, having stopped the moment he heard Rachelle start to speak. When she neared, he lifted his chin slightly and regarded her with skeptically narrowed eyes, though he remained mostly calm. " What're you playing at?" He asked at length, his gilded eyes fixated on the face of the woman.


“Wh-what?” She pivoted away, scrunching her eyes closed and partially hiding her face amongst her things. “Oh. Er. N-nothing. Nevermind. I’m sorry.” One eye peeked open just enough to peer at him again. “Rough day. I’m p-probably coming down with something. It’s tying my tongue and making me feverish. Y-yes. I’ll leave before you contract it as well. We’ll meet again. Goodbye.” She fled to escape her own awkwardness, as close to a run as she could manage in those shoes and with those bags.


Krice 's brow twitched slightly. Was that regret in his expression? As Rachelle spoke of her ill turn of health, the warrior pivoted just enough to face the north, gesturing with his right hand in that direction. " There's a healer up in Northern Sage." After a moment given to contemplation, he offered, " I'll escort you there, if you need to see him."


Even in the thick of the crowd, Krice would be able to hear the clacking of those heeled boots slow as she processed what had been said to her. There was a brief pause and then they returned, bringing Rachelle face to face with the man again. “A-an escort?” How very polite of him. How could she refuse? “Why yes, I… I suppose that would be for the best, eheh. Goodness knows I might faint in this condition.” Yes. Faint right into those muscled arms, of course.


Krice could hear those heels just fine, which meant that he -couldn't- hear them when Rachelle stopped. Her words inspired a wry smirk and he shook his head. " I don't think you're gonna faint," he said, gesturing westward as he added, " But it doesn't hurt to get checked out, just in case." Despite this offer to assist the woman, the silver-haired enigma was still his usual calm self, his expression guarded and unreadable.


“S-sure, yes, of course.” Oh, for the love of Arkhen, could she please stop stammering and blushing so? “By all means. Lead the way.” She knew where the healer was. Of course she did. She lived not so very far from there. But to be escorted by the man… maybe she hadn’t entirely flubbed up their meeting, or maybe it was still salvageable. And then… it would only be another few blocks to her house. He’d be smitten once he’d had her cooking. Everyone was, weren’t they? “Do you, er, live very near to here?”


Krice moved westward, seeking out the path that would lead them both north into Sage. The healer had been busy of late, but no doubt he'd find the time for another patient, especially one who didn't seem too worse for wear. In response to Rachelle's query, the warrior offered a casual, " Not really." He was hardly the talkative type, or at least was very secretive. Either way, surely that was a turn off? Wasn't it?


Rachelle lofted a brow at her new… companion. “Oh? Cenril, then? Larket, perhaps? Frostmaw?” She’d babble to fill Krice’s silences. “I just met a gal from Frostmaw not too long ago. I’ve never been, but it seems quite the popular place to be, these days. Seems all the news I hear is from up that way, not all of it pleasant.”


Krice didn't answer any of Rachelle's queries, nor did he provide input to her mention of Frostmaw's and its tumultuous recent history. Instead, as he turned north through the forest, he gestured for her to follow and said, quizzically, " You know where this healer is? If I'm remembering right, he's pretty close to those roads you mentioned."


Rachelle tried not to find the man rude for leaving himself so mysterious. Maybe he was a foreigner? In her mind, it would pardon his strange manners. “Yes, I know it well enough, though I’m fortunate to not have to go that way very often. Why do you ask?”


Krice shook his head in response to Rachelle's question, seemingly unaware of her opinion of him. He glanced past her head into the shadows beyond her, looking roughly in the direction of the healer. " No reason," murmured the enigmatic swordsman, turning for the healer's hut shortly afterward. Once there, he'd halt just a few metres away from the door, letting her know that he didn't need to go further.


What a positively bizarre person. Rachelle approached the healer’s door, though she too stopped just before its stoop and turned to face Krice again. “Thank you once again, good s-- ah, Krice.” She stood there, shuffling one boot against the other, not yet knocking on the healer’s door. -She- knew she wasn’t actually sick.She’d prefer not to waste the time if she could get away with it.


Krice wasn't even a stone's throw away from the stoop, standing several metres away. Perhaps he wanted to make sure that no dangers snuck up on Rachelle? How gentlemanly. Following her greeting, he dipped his head in an acknowledging nod and spoke as well. " No problem... Take care of yourself." He didn't even know her name. The warrior lingered just a few seconds longer, perhaps long enough for him to realize that she hadn't yet gone into the healer's hut at all - long enough for him to wonder why. He stared thoughtfully at the woman.


“Er, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I shall.” He was staring. Drat. She didn’t have a choice, did she? She rapped her knuckles lightly on the healer’s door. Maybe she’d get lucky and they wouldn’t be home -- ah. Nope. There was rustling from within, and then the door was opened by that same old grey-haired woman Rachelle was faintly familiar with from previous visits. She turned to Krice one more time before entering. “Farewell, then.”

Krice was nothing more than a memory when Rachelle turned around to say goodbye, gone from sight and sound - lost to the shadows of the forest.