RP:Something Fragile
Synopsis: Penelope returns from wherever she has been hiding, and ends up in Frostmaw the night of the Yule Ball. She does not attend because many anxieties await her in that room. Instead, she heads to the tavern and bumps into Krice for the first time in almost a year.
Frostmaw Tavern
Penelope barges in the tavern with a heavy camel coat and thick black and checkered scarf over her shoulders. The woman rushes with a hiss in her throat from the stinging cold towards the fire. She reaches her small hands out and strains for warmth. Her nose is red and her cheeks. One of the barmaids come over and assist the girl and offer her a warm cider. Of course, Penelope will pay, but for now she nods in gratitude while the barmaid shuffles to another customer.
Krice stepped into the tavern just a few moments after Penelope, enough time for her to settle in her seat and await the barmaid's fulfillment of her order. Wisps of snow swirled about his feet as he shoved open the door, fingers catching the wooden barrier to push it closed in his wake. Dressed in only his usual black attire and black robes that seemed far too thin to adequately combat Frostmaw's icy climate, the katana-wielding man stepped forward, through the crowds, around them where possible, to approach the shivering woman. He crossed paths with the barmaid and dismissed an offer of a drink with a polite shake of his head, thereafter stepping up beside Penelope to regard her with a guarded but thoughtful expression. " It's been a while," he said, reaching out to hover his right hand above the warmth of the fire.
Penelope is almost startled to hear a voice so familiar. The woman keeps her cool behavior, and she eyes the man draped in black with her mossy hues. There is a long silent pause between them, but she knew he would not mind because he was not one for most chatter. Her expression is very stoic, but her voice is as smooth as it has always been. “Some might say too long,” she blows on the cider in her hands and takes cautious sip of the hot liquid. “There’s a ball tonight at the Fort, did you attend?” Her words are very careful, almost avoiding the fact that she disappeared after a blood-battle with him – with him protecting her.
Krice didn't mind the silence at all, but it stretched long enough for him to divert his gaze from Penelope to the dancing flames before them. He lowered his hand when she at last spoke, letting it settle into place beside him, hidden somewhere in the folds of his robes. Indeed, it had been too long. When last had he seen the woman...? " Walked right past it," was the guarded warrior's reply about the party at the fort. " The Yule Ball, or... whatever they're calling it." Turning his head, he aligned those gold-streaked eyes with Penelope's profile once more. " I didn't see you there."
Penelope snickered at the response that he gave her; though, she did not respond. The woman drank a little more cider before gasping at the burning sensation it gave her tongue. “The Yule Ball,” she nodded. Her hair had been chopped since he last saw her. Not too short, yet not too long – that awkward mid-length. The woman appears tired and thinner in the face (if that was possible). Older. What time could do to a person was amazing. “I almost did. I’ve never been to a ball before, but then I remembered that whenever there is an event, there is chaos.” She squints as she stares into the flames. “I had a dress and everything. Honestly the only reason why I was in Frostmaw. I thought about making an entrance, I really did, but dances are silly anyway. I haven’t celebrated Yule in years.”
Krice dropped both hands into the pockets of his slacks, the movement obscured by his robes, and stared into the fire. He was listening to Penelope as told by his periodic responses, but she would feel no pressure to speak by the intensity of his crimson stare - for it was on the hearth in front of them. His smirk was wry and distant but clearly agreeing; where there was an event, there was chaos. " You'll find another reason to wear the dress." Her efforts in preparation would not go to waste. " And if not... Well, good riddance, I guess." He definitely was not one for parties.
Penelope approved of his comments and she begins to smile. He has her attention. “It is black anyway, could be for anything,” she nods. The woman then looks at him and turns her waist to look up at him. “What have you been up to these days? If you’re not attending the ball, why linger in Frostmaw?”
Krice shrugged a shoulder, noncommittally agreeing with Penelope. Black went with everything and everything went with black, according to his peripheral eavesdropping of fashionista chit-chat. Black was the new black. Fashion thoughts aside, the warrior realized that Penelope had enquired after his own activities in the time since last they spoke--or fought off a common enemy--and he squinted slightly, considering the answer. He turned his head to glance her way before speaking. " I'm almost always in Frostmaw. No special reason keeps me here." A moment of silence passed between them, during which time the warrior regarded Penelope with a speculative eye. " And you? How've you been?"
Penelope perks her lips in a frown and shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. She could accept that answer. There was silence between them and the girl keeps plump lips hovered over the mug. As he asks her a simple question, she inhales the steam from the mug and lowers it in her lap. “I’m just fine. I’m trying to save my money to do some home renovations.” The woman leaves it like that. “I’m actually glad I ran into you, Krice. Do you know Sabrina, have you seen her lately?”
Krice could take a hint. He left Penelope's answer without further question as to her whereabouts and opted to follow her change of topic, Sabrina. " I know her," he confirmed, turning his gaze to the fires in front of him. Warmth infused the gold striae of each eye, deepened the crimson pools through which they streaked. " It's been an age. I think she's somewhere in Larket." He shook his head, lips pressed lightly together as if to bridle further words. Turning his gaze again, the enigma once more filled his vision with the sight of Penelope. " It's good to see you, too. You look like you're doing alright."
Penelope lit up as he confirmed knowing Sabrina, however, shortly after she slumps. “Right, Larket. She hasn’t been in her office lately.” The frail woman shrugged. “’Alright’ is usually the only thing we can grasp onto. I’d hate to be miserable, wouldn’t you?” Her voice turned into a sharper tone, but there is still that calm aura she gives off. “Life has been going on. I have been going on. That is the way the world works. You can’t stop and hold your breath and hope the world will pause. You’ll miss the moments, even if there are moments you do not want to capture.” A small timid hand reaches up towards her chest and she rubs it as if there is a knot below her collarbone. “Krice, do you mind if I can see you more? I’d appreciate seeing you more. I’m sorry I left.” Her moss gaze is squinty and apologetic.
Krice pressed his lips lightly together, well aware that he had touched on a potentially sensitive topic for Penelope. It hadn't been his intention. Her philosophical response earned her the slightest softening of his gaze, but when she requested to see him once more, he was guarded anew. Perhaps the softer expression had been but a figment of imagination, something seen because it was wanted. Whatever the case, his answer to the woman's request was an ambiguous, “I'm not one to hide. If you want to see me, you can see me." He shrugged a shoulder, nonchalant while she seemed apprehensive. His gaze returned to the fires once more and he shook his head. “You don't need to apologize to me for leaving. It happens. Sometimes people can't stay." The left corner of his mouth twitched just a hint following this comment. After a few seconds of silence, he turned toward Penelope but only so that he could retreat through the room again, pausing to grant her a proper farewell. "Take care of yourself, stay inside. A blizzard's coming."
Penelope found his words comforting in a way. The girl always had a hard time staying, but she does not respond to what he replies to her. Instead, she looks down at her mug full of cider that is almost empty. The woman lowers the hand on her chest. “You too, Krice,” she nods, and with his farewell, she stands up, going to the bar to pay for the cider before she figures out her next move.
Krice's lips pressed again, this time in something akin to a distant smile that wasn't overtly happy or friendly, but told of a deeper understanding. Penelope was guarded, emotionally fragile even, and he wanted little to upset her. As she rose to approach the bar, he turned to proceed through the establishment, deftly maneuvering in-between stumbling drunkards enjoying themselves over their umpteenth round of ale. In a flurry of fresh snowfall and a gust of icy wind, the warrior pulled open the door and stepped out into Frostmaw's harsh, frigid air, pulling shut the wooden barrier in his wake.