“-- S-safe?!”

Safe? There, in the arms of the enemy?? Rois fails to think straight, healing, healer, the pains gone, it was all her, the absolute obvious. All at once the stupid man’s skull is filled with the previous and even further back, the image of Lucero upon her knees with her own blood like bars upon her pale face, a jail cell of their combined efforts and struggle amongst the ferns. He had kicked her down. She had been splayed upon the ground like he was now with rasping gasps and trembling hands, desperately clinging to the rapidly fleeing safety of consciousness; and now the shoe was on the other foot. This shadowy, private gap of theirs between the orange bricks of business would become a stage without an audience, but a single play would be airing, its theme would be obvious.

Revenge.

“No, no--”

Rois could not, would not die like Lucero almost had, there was a shame to the erasure of ones entire existence being so quiet and cowardly-- to take out an opponent already downed…! This bitch, her hands have moved but strength is returning to tanned muscles that rebel against the healers strength of touch, I don’t want you hurting yourself, liar. There was a knife at her waist. They both knew it regardless of whether it was now absent of the suns glare, with all the co-ordination of a slightly older kitten who is beginning to learn the basics of dexterity black nails are attempting to grasp at her wrist… of the very same hand she is using to touch his palm. The movement is awkward and unsuccessful. Fingers clambering for fingers. Thankfully there was another avenue, he is flushed with hair sticking to sweat-laden bandages, glaring up at her for a fragment of a moment to meet her attempts at being laughably stern--

And when one was dealing with a crocodile, its mouth should always be considered carefully.

Chomp.

The butcher bites the finger that had once been circling the skin of his brow now twisted with vicious expression, and it isn’t as harsh of a nip-and-hold as Rois had wanted it to be, but even with the little strength his flagging body possesses the cutting of his teeth breaks first exposed skin and then threatens to surpass even the threshold of the digits base in the way of leather glove. A non-subtle pulling is rewarded by the teasing of blood against his tongue, swallowing it down with a rumble and further attempts to try and lamely tear the damn thing from its birthplace. No, he is not succeeding. Yes, it does still hurt. A dazed, weak crocodile is still a damned crocodile, and those teeth are abnormal, for even the flats of molars have some kind of uncanny, inhuman edge as they seek to claim Lucero’s flesh. If the knife would ever be considered… better to disable the hand that seeks its hilt then to let the chance arrive unhindered.
 
“Jódete!” She hissed out the curse as soon as his sharp teeth clamped around her finger, piercing and shreding her skin. Lucero had never been bit before while helping a person, the wild monster she had come across with Syr Horoth when they went to rescue the white harpy Shoyna had tried to bite her, but never a person. Usually once they realized she was not hurting them they settled down, but even as she promised him no harm would come to him he had bit her. What was it with him always terrorizing her fingers? Didn’t anyone ever teach him not to bite the hand that feeds him?

‘Stab him,’ her little devil whispered with a seductive drawl. ‘Choke him out right now, if he’s going to bite off your finger then have him choke on it.’ Lucero cursed again in her mother tongue, the common language too bland to truly express how much her finger hurt in this moment, the betrayal growing in her heart, and still she ignored Devil Lucero because that was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

“No matter how much you hurt me I won’t hurt you,” Lucero cried with a keening edge in her voice, no longer soft and under control but breathless and hissing, sucking in air through her teeth. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought bitterly, feeling foolish as tears welled in her eyes. Too scared to try tugging her finger beneath his fangs, all Lucero could think was why? Why in Khurun did he only have sharp teeth, what was he? Why did she help him, why had she followed after him despite him trying to murder her.

“I refuse, I refuse, I refuse.” She said quietly, more to herself than Him. Of course she had followed after him because she had been curious and perhaps felt brave after he strode away from her. And of course she had gone to his aid because that was the sort of person she wanted to be, the sort of person who believed in people. Even if Devil Lucero mocked her and gave her a list of ways to get out of the predicament - none of them kind to Him, of course - it would be the same as admitting defeat, to go back on her heart.

Lucero was not the strongest Knight. She was young, she was blind, and she wasn’t worth much in a fight. But she liked to think that she made up for it with her tenacity and mental fortitude, that she was just as strong as the others because she was soft and kind. But by the gods was he testing her patience right now. ‘Stab him in his cheek,' Devil Lucero giggled.

Her hand was tight against his wrist, beginning to wrestle with that arm of his. Lucero was getting her teeth so tightly that she felt the onset of a headache pound at the base of her head, neck taut and tight and feeling like her veins might explode with the adrenaline. And he would feel it, Lucero’s feelings. Her empathy unchecked, her own emotions beginning to stir in the air between them like the waft of sweet breads or cooked sausages upon entering the market for the first time.

“You’re the one who’s on top of me with your big fat stupid head,” The Knight lamented, fighting the urge to hurt him the way he hurt her, the facade of the benevolent healer cracking. The smile she forced to her lips was open and gasping and crazed, her words coming out between grunts of pain. "I won't hurt you like you hurt me, I won't do to you what you did to me." Her smile grew wider, his teeth crushing her finger, fangs deep enough she was sure they scrapped against her bone. Eyes, wide and wild, as they twinkled. "So go ahead, bite off my finger and choke on it, I'll still smile down at you because I know it pisses you off."

'Pendejo,' her little devil crowed in her ear.
 

Red on black, spider lilies rising from the muck.

That had been Rois’s existence, every petal curled upwards had been like small daggers, first the prickling of sharpish pain and then the usual, familiar ache that asked him sweetly to remain upon the earth lest their points delve deeper… he always disobeyed. Sought out comfort and let the hazy recollections come later when he could be bothered to think without a savagely pounding headache, such disobedience against the warning signs produced a level of anguish that was entirely expected. It was always the same. There was no running from the inevitable, his story’s bulk saw to it that the most constant thing throughout would be a seizure and its loyal companion-- hurt-- closely following behind. So why was it now, with this womans finger betwixt the grasp of his teeth, did hurt flag so loosely behind…? Where had those flowers gone, had the grime been so egregious in its presence that it had drowned them all entirely…?

No matter how much you hurt me I won’t hurt you.

… She who sang her own choir of great deeds and accomplishments still, somehow, found empathy for lowly he. Such a thing should not be possible, it was entirely human to want revenge against the crimes of the past, people were supposed to be predictable but Lucero was not to easy to understand despite how much the butcher thought he had her figured out-- the healers expression had become just as twisted as his. There was an unknowing thrum to the air that was poorly understood. Why did he feel… sorry for her? For the way she rattled words so, for the bowing of her head, for the desperate grasping of tender hands who had only sought to… it clicked, finally. She had been plucking the flowers out root and stem with whatever magicks she claimed to have-- now proven true-- Lucero had been helping, his big, fat, stupid head had been upon her legs because-- Gods be damned-- why, why--

She is suddenly released from steel-like jaws.

Rois is not eloquent in his movement, finally managing to break free of her grasp he shuffles his large self to the side and sits up in a manner too fast for his shaken skull, almost immediately tipping over once again. This stupid woman and her God-complex, this ever nagging need to help, yes, it pissed him off. It is evident when the butcher begins speaking after a period of silence from the pair, loudly huffing out of sync with one another upon the ground.

“... Heh… I d-don’t know why… you didn’t k-kill me, fool.” Comes the familiar heated sneer, her blood was still sweet upon his tongue. Delicious. “D-Do you cling to y-your… saintly image so tightly… that you c-cannot bare to lose it?”

He is predictable even if she isn’t. Once again Rois is checking to make sure his coin purse is still there, the idea that maybe she took it during the lapse of his memories still prevalent at the forefront of that addled mind. No, you don’t feel sorry for her. Maybe repeating the words internally would rid him of the nagging, newly birthed feelings of empathy that were somehow stubbornly remaining at his core, so strange, none else was ever subjected to such soft emotion so why now…? Too many ‘whys’, too many unanswered things too tumultuous to speak aloud, they hang in the air like threats ever-keen to shatter the momentary ‘peace’ that had fallen the two… they demanded responses none-the-less. Rois would tepidly oblige.

“So… somehow, you did s-something… magkical somethings.” A motion is made tiredly with a hand in a blasé circle. With every minute gone recovery came swifter, oh, how great it felt to finally think without the marring of confusion’s suffocating grasp! “I know you did… ‘cause I do not hurt as much as I should. What I don’t… understand, is why you’d bother. That is what pisses me off, because it doesn’t m-make sense.”

… My goodness, the pitch of Rois’s voice briefly rises, hes mimicking her,

“I refuse I refuse I refuse!” And it isn’t a good impression whatsoever. A crimson gaze flutters downwards to the lady knights fingers, “You stupid bitch… look what your kindness has wrought.”
 
"Because I am not like you," Lucero had scooted away from him the moment he had let her go. Like two cats squaring up on each other, now they had their backs against opposite walls, facing each other with fast beating hearts and heads filled with too many questions. "If I see a person that's hurting I help them." Because he was right, she did cling to that idea of a healer that was tall and thin, blonde with blue eyes, lovely inside and out and able to fix any heart, any wound. Unlimited kindness, patience, a heart so pure it could heal the world.

But Lucero was not that. Beneath the sun her skin grew dark, in the winter her hair could look black, and forget the sky blue eyes, she was blind. She had to fight with herself to be kind, to fight against her own instincts when she was being hurt. She was not perfect, she was unable to be effortlessly beautiful and patient and able to heal all the woes. Lucero would rather bite her own tongue than to admit this to a stranger, she'd rather bleed out than let the man that degraded know how much he had gotten to her.

Before, she had felt like she could only walk while everyone else could run. After Him, now it felt like she had to crawl, to pull herself by her hands.

Rubbing at her injured finger, smearing blood over her gloveless hand. She brought her forefinger to her lips, using her tongue to run over the holes, wincing as she did so before putting her the middle digit in her mouth to clean it. She brewed in her silence, considering his words. When she released her finger with a pop it was no longer bleeding, but it hadn't been long enough for it to heal. That could wait, she had more important things to say to Him.

"You'd rather I hurt you instead of helping you, don't you? Because it's easier that way for you." She pointed her injured finger at him, raising her chin defiantly. "Bite first, ask questions later, Mr. Big Bad Wolf." Lucero had been wondering what he was, considering how sharp his teeth were now she thought him to be a beastkin of some sort. He didn't have ears but his teeth were so sharp... what else had razor sharp teeth?

"Well, I helped you. Even when you hurt me, twice, I still helped." This time her finger didn't tremble, because she knew how he had ran from her, that star of lightning bursting over his entire body, how he had fallen on his face, unable to speak, body seizing against his own will. And what had her kindness brought her? More pain? A disgruntled man that couldn't even say thank you despite admitting he knew she helped him.

"You're the stupid one, your voice is too deep to sound like me." If he wasn't going to apologize or thank her than neither would she offer the same courtesy. Insults it was.
 
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He does well to ignore the healers actions of correcting the torn flesh of her finger, leaning slowly against the crates on his left in a manner that dampened their whining at the weight. Colours came in a sluggish crawl. The vividness of the market afar was flickering fast into focus, only a few wandering souls drew their sight to the opening in minute interest that quickly fled at the sight of two people simply… perched there there. If it were up to Rois-- the mental side of him-- he’d drag his ass off of the ground and storm off in an unrelated direction to simmer and seethe like a man scorned, but no amount of mental willing could steel legs that the red-head knew would wobble violently if put to use. Falling in front of everyone flat on his face was a fear that justified the sitting… as lowly as that too was.

“You are a child reaching out to what you do not understand.” The words are spat with a forked tongue, not seeming to care that he himself had been the one to drag the conversation down to playground insults. “Do n-not presume you know how I think and act. You don’t even know what the ground below you looks like.”

… Because there was no way to know of Lucero’s sight beyond sight, the accumulation of the known hues come to delicately surmise the guise of a persons emotions… and their time together had seemed so barren of complex feelings before, but now those blacks came not so harshly. The wavering figure of a beast haunting the dark edges of the healers mind was losing its silhouette effect. Curious and curiouser, the reds of pain returning slowly to a skull leant against the cool yet rough touch of new-wood boxes, they were licked by the relief of a kinder, warmer yellow, an emotion that would never be shown upon that eternally angry face. Alleviation… the knowledge that if it were not for her he would be in an absolutely worse off place, somewhere familiar yet never without the snagging of its teeth upon a worn-out body. And so the daffodil yellow, like weeds once again rising, are a subtle yet undeniable thankfulness…

… Not that Lucero would ever be thanked aloud.

In fact, Rois remains as horrid vocally as he ever was.

“You are not like me because I’m not an i-idiot, this foolishness is exactly what I meant when we last crossed paths. You do not know what you are doing despite being a self-confessed ‘saviour’ of many. Di… Did any of your masters bother to educate you properly…? You are supposed to keep clear once someone has had a seizure.”

… Oh?

“When we wake up we aren’t… entirely there, we are guided by false emotion-- and if you knew that your finger wouldn’t need fixing. It was your fault you got hurt before and it is your fault you got hurt now; y… you are inexperienced and naive and motivated by the idea that you really are some gift from the God’s themselves… yes, I am very much not like you.”

Well, look who found his voice, it came numbly and with the fringes of a wobble but Rois managed to (at least, partially) keep the snideness up with the semi-snarled words. They did however leave him a little breathless, puffing and panting as poor, overworked lungs tried to shake themselves free of the sticky residue coating them from the seizures poor attempt to choke him to death with his own saliva. It was not like it wasn’t expected, the schools knew very little about the condition and so could either deny its existence or preach falsehoods about how to fix it and that was not the womans fault-- but he’d blame her anyway, just because. There was no sign of an apology either, just the clinical admission that he'd been confused, it was the truth after all, the man had panicked at the feeling of someone touching him and the beginnings of sight had spied not just anyone but an enemy, the butcher could never admit that those ‘false emotions’ had been… fear. So, he fought. It was all he knew how to do.

In an act of absolute obscenity, before a healer, in the aftermath of an episode and actively wheezing, he is pulling a cigarette from his pocket. Incredible. It is placed between teeth,

“Go, flee back to your blameless, selfish world… I do not wish to be troubled further by your aggravating presence."
 
With a huff, Lucero turned her head to the side. For most it would have been disrespectful, for Lucero it meant the opposite, craning her ears towards him to better hear him. She disliked the way he spoke down to her as if she were a child. Crossing her arms over her chest now, Lucero did her best to look annoyed without looking like she was pouting. She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t known to stay clear of him, that whenever she had assisted someone who’s body refused to do as they say that it had never been as bad as his. He hadn’t just been twitching, his entire body had convulsed and it sounded like he couldn’t breathe. But next time, Lucero thought, she would do better with this piece of information.

Tobacco hit her noise hard, with a roll of her eyes, Lucero didn’t get up. She liked the smell of it, even more with the hint of sweetness from the sweet vendors. It was the same as liking the smell of leather in the sun beneath the sweet sugary scent of peaches, one of her first members after leaving the Monastery as a squire on a mission to administer aid.

“I may be blind but I can see you for who you are more than you think,” perhaps no longer a monster, but the darkness of his soul was unusual. Was that was caused the seizure or entirely unrelated? Lucero wished that he was the sort of man that liked to talk about more important things instead of being the sort that enjoyed lecturing others about how he was right. Not an unusual trait for most men to have. “So I will leave when I want to because you do not own me in any way.”

But in the distance, Lucero could hear her name being shouted. She could hear Yinka and Syr Silas calling out for her, could hear the fear in both their voices. Lucero bit her lower lip. Well, sometime had passed. She didn’t have her sausage on a stick. She felt around on the floor for her glove that she had taken off, leaning forward on her hands and knees to sweep one hand slowly in front of her. She had a system, long sweeping strokes close to the ground, fingers splayed wide.

“Lucero!” The Syr Silas’s voice was getting louder, announcing his presence. Yinka’s softer voice was much farther away. She wished it had been the other way around, in her gut anxiety grew. She didn’t want Syr Silas seeing the man with the sharp teeth.

“Dang it,” Lucero muttered to herself. Her eyes had dimmed in their brilliance, veins no longer pronounced. But still she searched for her glove, ignoring the man calling after her. She didn’t want him to know her name without her knowing is, it felt like a loss of power. So maybe if she just kept ignoring it….

“Should you even be smoking right now? It’s bad for your health.”
 
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And maybe if the poor woman hadn’t reacted, he’d never know her name.

Lucero.

The cigarette is fine paper coiled about loose-leaf, it is lit with the pressing of a thumb against its blunt end, fire, a very minor manipulation of the shroud that spawns orange embers at its beige end. The deep breath in hurts a little. That moment of uncomfortableness is rewarded however by the strong taste of rich tobacco leaf swirling about lungs like a warm kiss… it is a simple pleasure, one shared by many an addict who needed a quick boost of happiness, a calming presence that sees grey smoke tumbling out upon hotter exhales. Rois does not catch on to her mentioning of ‘seeing him for who he is more than he thinks’, believing it is surely a metaphor and not the mentioning of an inconceivable power. There were more pressing things to attend to in the moment than magicks--

“... It seems you are a wanted woman.”

Evil.

The butchers tone is playful, there is mirth in the glowering of ruby eyes, oh, she was not alone…? How lovely, the sinister beginnings of a plot begin to sprout in uneven grounds, Rois wonders with little worry if they knew who he was. If the healer had gone crawling back to them with fat tears sweeping the undersides of her eyes and a scratchy voice that warbled in pain; the story of the monster in the woods and how its claws had come to rend the delicate planes of her body so. If that was correct then it was natural to want to hear those stories, right? In a place so bloated with witnesses they surely would not turn steel to him if they did know-- and if they didn’t, well, then the truth could be as pliable as clay. And Rois did not want to fight. The man has to use the boxes to drag himself into a stand, lightheadedness rushing to smear the harsh edges of his vision, it would be so much more fun to play with words, but… if it came to it, it came to it.

Lucero is fishing for her glove. For a moment the man looks down upon her with amusement at her struggle, deciding to end it swiftly when it goes on a little too long and it becomes clear that the fool would never find it unless it is kicked against the back of her hand,

“Come on, Lucero, we’re going to make friends. You just have to introduce me.” Words marred by smoke, completely ignoring whatever wisdom she wished to impart upon him. A blind woman and a man who looked like he needed fifty years of sleep to recover from the seizure, squinty eyes uneven and weakness still claiming limbs in the way of a subtle shiver every now and then… Rois refused to be bested by it. This chance to play (spurred on by nicotine) promised too much glee to ignore.

“I really, really want to know what you’ve said about me.”
 
"Oh, my glove." Lucero mumbled to herself, sitting back on her knees and putting the glove back on. She shivered as he said her name, every smoky syllable tingling down every single vertebrae she had. Shoulders raised high towards her ears, a horrible attempt in making her disappear. She should have left when he told her to do so, but stupidly stubborn, now look at the mess she was getting into. Lucero had no doubt in her mind that Syr Silas, even if there were people surrounding them, would kill this man if he knew it was him.

With a deep breath, Lucero breathed in his cigarette smoke. She didn't have to worry about her own lungs, but she was starting to worry about baby Kaif's little lungs if the man came near him.

"My friends won't like you," Lucero said with a quiet fierceness, glove finally on, she stood up slowly, a bit unsteady until she was leaning against the wall. "And they're not as forgiving as me." She wasn't looking at him, using the wall and Silas's voice to bring her towards the exit, feet knocking into the barrels that hid them. The blind knight had no desire for the two of them to meet, the man and Syr Silas, but she knew it was better to get out of there now than to have her fellow knight find her in a alley with a beastman.

Using her arms outstretched before her, she was able to maneuver herself out from the boxes, crates and barrels, stumblingSyr Silas.webp back into the street just at the exact moment that Syr Silas was coming around the bend, shouting her name with one hand raised to his mouth. Lucero smooth out her tunic and skirts, unsure if there was blood or dirt or both, but all her hands could do was smooth out wrinkles. Nothing felt wet at least, a minor comfort.

"Lucero," In a heartbeat, Syr Silas' big heavy hands were gripping her slender shoulders, fingers digging into bones he always considered to be bird-like, fragile and sharp. "You went off on your own. You said you'd stay in line. I was so...."

"I'm fine," Lucero said, using her hands to try and remove one of his off of her. "Let's... let's just go. Where's Yinka?" Was he right behind her? Did Silas notice him?

"Why didn't you come out when you heard us calling for you? This was the second time I walked by here." Lucero held back the huff in her chest, now he was starting to sound like her father, her master, as if she should come out running the moment he called for her. She couldn't stop her eyes from rolling. "Where you in that alley with... him?"

Syr Silas Grimnod's dark, gloomy gaze looked towards the man behind Lucero and narrowed unkindly, assessing him. Silas had never once considered what Lucero's type was, all he knew that he wasn't it. He liked to blame it on his edge, Lucero had told him more than once that he reminded her of her father, just a more less friendly, less brilliant, less funny version. He didn't really think about pursuing her although the Sanctum always seemed to be pairing them together. Anxious Silas and ebullient Lucero, a match made in absolute hell if anyone where to ask him. Sometimes he thought it happened because she couldn't stare at his irreparable face, half marred from a bad shapeshift, forever part of him.

He wasn't blind, he could look at the red head and see him for all his peculiarities. The bandages with the strange symbols stood out first, then his hands, the claws and his sharp teeth, his broad frame and finally the look on his face. Looking back at Lucero, they both looked a bit too sweaty for being in the shade together. Lucero tried to wave off Silas's concern and question, taking a step back so his other hand would fall off her shoulder.

"Who is he?" Silas's voice was like a winter wind. It didn't need to be like the crushing of rocks, the roar of waves, or the rumble of an earthquake. There was a sort of humbleness to how quiet Silas could be, the sort of danger only owls and their talons carried.

"Just a.... a...." Lucero looked off to the side, feeling her face get red. Did she lie and say friend? Did she tell Syr Silas the truth and watch mayhem ensue? Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Lucero said nothing more than her uneasy stammering of, "Well, you know."
 
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‘My friends won't like you.’

Good.

It seemed Lucero had a very special gift after all; the power to somehow have large men orbit her! Rois leant against the wall in absolute silence as he observed the interaction with smoke whirling between sharp teeth, half-lidded eyes as easy as the summer breeze that swept gently about them. This older gentleman was a knight, of that he could be certain. Such grizzled looks were worn nicely by a creature of the field, the proper strength of a body that was meant to toss a blade about with practised ease, and that is so, so curious to the red-head… why did Lucero have a knight with her? Was she… important? No mere fool with the idiocy to stumble into danger as she oft did could afford the luxury of proper guard, so, as the older frets over her and proceeds to glare daggers at him, Rois remains completely unresponsive to allow time to access the situation. The tables had turned, just a little. Some unknown power was at hand, there was no need to fully rile the lapdogs of the blueblooded, but… but! If they could walk the fine line between actual violence and play… then there would be no need for blades to be drawn. This could be, at worst, an argument entirely composed of words and nothing else.

And he did love arguing. And riling people up. And forging lies that could play upon ones insecurities.

Insecure indeed was the harshness of Silas’s touch upon her fragile shoulder…! Protectiveness, for one the old geezer saw as a daughter, a sister, or prospective lover? All would and could be exploited, the cigarette is spat to the ground and crushed softly beneath a boot. Time to act. It would not take much effort, exhaustion was already claiming tanned skin in the way of the smallest, slicked lines of sweat upon his brow and cheeks and against the harsh cutting of his throat, fingers rise to ruffle his ruddy-red hair out of place, so perfectly flustered seeming. Lucero had never seen Rois wear such a perfectly innocent expression before in all of her time with him, so boisterous, like a young man revelling in a secret joy! A toothy grin appears without the usual cutting of malice-- this brooding dog of the nobility was about to learn what it was like to wade in low waters amongst teeth barely breaking the glassy surface. Him being a knight was about to make the experience so much more thrilling.

“Phew… I apologize if she didn’t come when called--” Dehumanizing, the half-beast made her out to be a pet-- spoken with a voice so absent of the sinister shadows of harshness… instead the typical growling as a gleeful laugh aloud, “--The sweet lady here was a little preoccupied… she’s a goddess with her hands, you know?”

The large man teased by splaying his own hands against the air with the slightest curling of fingers appearing and disappearing at a blinks notice-- a little insinuation, just a smidge. The crimsons of his eyes danced afire, he ran a tongue against the breadth of his fangs in the usual way the butcher often did… but this time it was slow. Drawn out. Purposefully devoid of secret. He is looking at Silas. Burning the coldness of the other males gaze away with the flames of his own, entirely unflinching and unaffected by the way the good Syr gazed upon his alley-scuffed form. The barest smearing of dirt upon thick arms only added to the effect.

Lucero took a step back to rid herself of Silas’s hands. So, she found herself beneath his.

“You’re a good girl, Lucero.”

She could have never imagined such a man’s touch could be so gentle, they come against her shoulder as if she really did possess bird bones, a heated-feather touch, just the tip of his thumbs nail trailing the elegant curve of the healers slender neck so finely and lightly that it could barely be felt at all. She wanted her thank you for her heroic deed, well, here it was. Sizzling words twirling about Lucero’s keen ears, producing a pinkish-red flush against the heat…

“Thank you… for caring for me in my time of need. I do not know what I would have done without you.”
 
Of course he would bring up her hands to remind her how he had broken all of her fingers, pushed them to the back of her hand and spoke easily as she screamed and cried and moaned in pain. Of course he would bring up her hands when he had taken a bite out of her finger, had been ready to rend her flesh off bone with teeth as sharp as steel. Lucero hadn't seen the obscene gesture, but Syr Silas had. Lucero couldn't see the way his charcoal gaze fell to her hands as if he could spy anything out of the ordinary, but she had clasped her hands tightly in front of her as if she might kneel down in prayer.

A rabbit frozen in fear in the jaws of a wolf might have made more of an effort to move than Lucero hand. Under his hands, still he, nameless, saying her name as if it made him rich. He treated every syllable like he was wrapping it in velvet with his tongue, but she had felt his teeth on her finger, knew he could bite her so much harder.

Why did he have such a nice voice? Lucero couldn't appreciate a body unless she touched it and used her hands to help paint a picture and then continue with the tracing and the padding until she could remember it. But that was the thing about voices, when someone had a nice voice she didn't need help remembering it. Even when he sneered at her and taunted her and insulted her, Lucero knew he had a voice that felt like eating chocolate. Rich, warm, sweet, with just enough bitterness that lingered so well on the tongue it was hard not to take another bite.

Embarrassment and shame heated Lucero's cheeks, flushing them with just enough red that it could be suspicious, the tip of a sharp nail should have made her stiffen, and for a moment she did before relaxing, practically accepting her fate. After all, it was always nice to be praised, especially after having just been insulted. And there was even gratitude! Lucero pushed the strange and stupid thoughts of his voice out of her mind, she'd unpack all of that later, alone.

"Of course, I told you I wanted to help." Lucero's voice was like the crash of cymbals against the slow, steady tempo held between a guitar and a drum. "

Silas regarded the redhead as if they were playing poker. Lucero had been missing for awhile, but something didn't feel right. Sure, he had considered Lucero needing to blow off some steam, mostly with food and drink, but if she had taken a man to her room or gone with a man... well, Syr Silas would have stopped it and not cared if she was upset by it.

So why did he feel this man was dishonest? Because he couldn't imagine any man who had Lucero in their little grubby grasp to be quick with her because the first time he had set his lecherous gaze on her, he had thought about indulging himself completely. The memory of her naked in that river, wet skin glistening under the sun, her torso paler than the rest of her, her coltish legs seamlessly blending into wide hips, arms hiding her chest, and that embarrassed, innocently flustered face of hers, apologizing for shouting... Syr Silas took a deep breath. He had forgotten about that, it was two years ago and only for a second or two and still he felt a stirring in his groin that was wrong in too many ways because he had Yinka now, because Lucero thought of him like a father, because he should have been able to ignore such selfish desires and yet now, face to face with this man and his hints towards such vulgar displays....

But it couldn't be possible, it hadn't been that long, and if it hadn't been that long, then it was all superficial. The brief fire of rage simmered down and Syr Silas felt cool enough to speak. The man couldn't possibly be Lucero's type anyways. Silas had always thought of her with -- if not himself during late night fantasies -- some skinny nerdy guy. But, never too often, sometimes even that soured his mood.

"Right, like I'm supposed to believe that? Lucero, get over here, now." He reached for her forearm, pulling her harshly out of the man's grasp. Staring straight into his red eyes, Silas could almost see a bloody reflection of himself. He looked the man up and down and then suddenly became unsure, gimlet gaze shooting right back up to his face, brows furrowed in confusion. Had Lucero... paid for his body?

No! Damnit, Silas, that's fuckin' stupid. Lucero would never do such a thing. She wouldn't, right? At least not at this festival surrounded by drunks and their families, right?

"Silas, there you are." A woman's voice, his woman's voice, was enough to pull him out of the strange haze he found himself in. "And you found Syr Lucero, I'm so happy you're safe." It took Yinka longer to notice the muscular man with a shit-eating grin. "A... friend of yours, Syr Lucero?" Kaif, held tightly against Yinka's chest, shifted ever so slightly. Now, Silas moved to protect Yinka from that red gaze, doing his best to pull Lucero with him, but that man would have an easier time dragging Silas through hell than to try and insinuate lies with Yinka.

Lucero, partially oblivious as to what was going on other than she had royally pissed Syr Silas off, didn't like how long it took for Yinka to notice Him. He was a big man with a big head, how did people keep missing him? It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on her.

"Y-yeah, a friend, sorta." She lied with a smile. She turned back to look at him, that big black mass looming over her, threatening to swallow her whole. Now that was why she shouldn't think about how alluring his voice was.

"Lucero, I said let's go." Syr Silas barked.
 
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The faltering of Lucero’s confidence was not good, not if the lie was to have any weight when it was sweetly spoken so… there was a fear about her. True enough did women experience the violence of men beneath the sheets as oft as they did at the dinner table, but Rois wanted to come across as a boyish, playful lover (impossible, the man was not aware of his own presence and appearance) and so it would make no sense for the woman to be wracked by anxiety…! She flits from him like a butterfly grasped in a net and there is no move made to get her back underhand if only to allow her the space to breathe and act better, there was a script at foot and the healer was playing along, she was just doing so badly. Thankfully, his gaze does not linger on her long… the more pressing matter was the way that knight afar was looking at him.

An investigation that almost seemed dark, Silas was combing over his form as if looking for something, more evidence? Or was he simply sizing the stranger up if the prospect of a fight arose…? Rois was no fool when it came to allure, dressing to accentuate certain features (the breadth of large, bronze arms criss-crossed in thick veins, the low cut of the tunic at the base of a solid, pronounced throat, wind-swept pants that sometimes caught the curve of something) was almost always done simply to drive others into a state of either lust or jealousy… it was working, but there was a problem with the attire. Only one of them was armored and the other was upon the tail end of a very disabling medical episode whilst being unarmed, there was some sort of creed that stopped knights acting shamefully yet Rois knew well enough that it was very much ignored once ones blood got hot enough and the thrill of a tussle was at hand; such was the nature of knights as a whole. Idiots goaded easily into provocation. He just had to stay at arms length and avoid physical violence for the sake of his numbed, shaken brain.

“... What are you looking at, old man? Aren’t you aged enough to know you should not be yanking women around like that…?” A cheshire-like grin with a hand cocked upon his hip, observing the hastiness of the snatch. Defensive. Some unimportant woman arrives with the fruit of her crotch at her breast, the red-head rudely spares them absolutely no time at all, not even the smallest flicker in their direction. How could he, when being pinned down by the winter of Syr Silas afar? A bull but moments from huffing and puffing and Rois himself holding a red flag-- and the best part about it all…?

Nothing he had said had been false.

He was speaking the truth, just twisting it in a way to make it sound so much more lewd than it was to pray upon the stoic males obvious faults. Lucero had indeed used her hands to make him feel better, she had been caring, a very, very good girl. The effects of those words were not lost upon him, pretty was the blush crawling about her fair face in response… the weakness of women, Rois could almost roll his eyes in disbelief. Instead the male opts to jab a finger over his shoulder quickly, feigning eagerness,

“Wait... do you want a ride, too?” … And despite how silky-soft the half-beasts tone has been he somehow manages to add ‘surprise’ to it all, it's false of course, dramatic for dramas sake. “... I can go again, big guy. Come to the alley; the stone’ll still be warm from us.”

Us. How playful, the emotion flits across slitted eyes and shows in the quirking of one side of his lips to turn his grin snaggle-toothed. Silas was a handsome man, this made it easy to lie about the desire to fuck him raw against the crates of the alleys shadows; and it did occur to him that maybe the broad and her spawn were his, with the way the knight had moved to protect them so. That only made the situation more laughable, pathetic, there was an unknown dynamic there that just begged to be exploited by honeyed words and the promise of antics both rough and heated… Rois wanted to clap his hands in excitement. A child humoured by the stress of others. Lucero could see it, the bright, cheerful streaks of joy.

“I’d offer the lady there my hand, but, well, women after child-birth… they lack a certain tightness that I’ve come to enjoy.”
 
Lucero's jaw dropped at his insinuation that she hadn't healed him but had instead engaged in passion with him. She whirled, her dark brown waves flying, tendrils catching the sun to flash a warm bronze as her jaw dropped in horror, brows first raised high to her forehead before lowering over her eyes in disgust for lying. Everything in her face screamed why on Khurun would you say that, and she opened her mouth to curse him in her mother tongue until she saw how happy and pleased with himself he was.

The little (big?) sicko was enjoying this, this strange lie of make-believe coitus and suggesting the same act to Syr Silas. Lucero found nothing wrong with sex work, only worried about the many she found that it never seemed to be the person's choice, too many stolen and sold, forced into repaying a debt, or worst, enchanted to the point of permanent memory loss.

But He beat her to it, his final sentence like a Judge's verdict.

It was awful. Kaif began to cry as if he knew what had just been said, It felt like a tree had just fallen in a forest.

"I see, now." Syr Silas said with a voice absent of emotion. His grip on Lucero was forgotten, his favorite punching hand turning into a fist. "You think because I'm a knight I won't do anything to you." He took a step forward, elbow bending.

"Silas, no!" Yinka shouted, clutching Kaif tighter to her. No one had been looking at them before, but now a few people stared. Lucero broke her promise to Syr Silas and saw the rage that conquered his entire body, in hot bursting spats of bright vibrant red. Lucero's eyes widened. All her hard work, Syr Silas was about to undo it all.

His arm swung back and Lucero with a shout of "stop!" thought getting in the middle of the two of them would stop it. She had planned on grabbing Syr Silas' arm and holding him back from his full potential of landing a blow on the man, had considered that by slowing the other knight down then the sharp toothed man could make a run for it. All Lucero ended up doing was getting her face in the way of Syr Silas's fist -- he was faster than he looked.

Lucero felt her neck crack uncomfortable, heard her jaw pop and her teeth were clenched so hard she was lucky her tongue hadn't gotten stuck between as the force of the knight's gauntlet was enough to throw her against the wall.
 
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It was just oh, so, easy.

You think because I'm a knight I won't do anything to you.

As usual, Rois could take satisfaction that once again he had been correct; just another meat-head falling for the bait dangled before him, ever-eager to protect whatever pride he had with violence. The red-head was not exempt from this, often he did exactly the same thing, but never over the vague mentioning (or, in this case, the quite open declaration) of sex, something many males felt so critically insecure of. His pride was something more noble. Something more secret. Something that came to bite at the mere idea of glimpsing back at the darkness of the past. There might have been a moment taken to feel objectively superior about the butchers delusioned sense of ‘control’ if it were not for the rapidly mounting tension that came with the curling of the knights fist-- Rois would take no shame in stepping back out of the desire to protect his damned face--

CRACK.

All at once, a din of murmurs and outrage as footfall stopped and more gathered to spy Lucero’s form bouncing off of the brick wall, a medley of gasps and harsh whisperings, how could he, what’s going on?! Rois blinked for a few moments in absolute disbelief, he knew why the idiotic healer would seek to get between them-- mayhaps she wished to protect his skull after the event, too-- because it was what she did, she helped without thinking, but he had not expected to swallow down rapidly rising emotion whirling forth like a sudden fire had been lit at his core……

….. The emotion, still, was joy.

He wanted to laugh, explode into a fit of cruel and violent snickerings. The unruly knight and the poor girl braced upon the brick, blood blossoming at a nose whip-cracked by metal-shielded bone, oh, goodness, it was hilarious!! This just kept getting better and better, the wobbling of the butchers lips needed to be set in a straight line or else he knew he’d explode into a fit of gleeful giggling, there was still a part to play, the ‘good guy’, and one could not claim superiority of the moral kind when one saw fit to laugh at the striking of a woman.

“You monster…!” Rois proclaimed with false anger, false disbelief, a finger pointed in the knights direction and a voice that rose high above the muddlings of alarmed people, “What sort of man would hit a lady like that… are you out of your mind?! Where are the catchpoles? Guards?? Do you also think that because you are a knight that you are above the law?!”

All at once it was vividly clear that the swinging heads of crowd members were people glancing back and forth, trying to spy the uniforms of patrolling lawmen about, with some flitting entirely from the scene to manually go and fetch them with an eager amount of haste. Rois did not miss a beat. A dramatic turn to the healer against the stone, the only reason her hands were not grasped in a display of faux worry was because the fool needed them to fix herself,

“Lucero… are you alright?” There it is again, that sickly sweet tone, the dripping of fabricated concern that never quite reached flashing eyes… all highlighted by the fiercely clashing summer colours of happiness. Quieter, more private words... "... Where are you staying? I'll walk you back."
 
"Why'd you get in the way?" Silas shouted, angry.

"Are you okay?" Yinka asked, concerned, barely able to reach Lucero's ears over Kaif's wailing.

Their words blurred together, voice melting into one, as Lucero raised her head, she felt dizzy enough that her stomach threatened to bring back up her breakfast. Warm blood was dripping from one nostril, over her lips and chin to fall onto her tunic.

You monster.... What sort of man would hit a lady like that... are you out of your mind?

Syr Silas must have really put everything he had into that punch if Lucero thought she heard the man say something like that, as if he were actually appalled at what had just happened. All the sounds around her were fuzzy, sounding just out of reach. She spat out a glob of red spittle and wiped her bloody nose with the back of her hand. That was when she felt it, a cloud of fear and confusion looming over their small little alley from the bustling festival goers who had just witnessed the punch.

Lucero... are you alright?

But it wasn't Syr Silas, who stood there, stricken with shame at his actions. Before he could go to comfort Lucero - or just pick her up and swing her over his shoulder because he was tired of this shit - it was Him. Her head cleared just enough upon realizing who it was that she did not take his offer immediately. Instead, Lucero turned her face towards Him, blood smeared across her cheek, fat sparkly tears in her eyes and looked directly into His eyes.

The glare was rife with emotion, glinting like steel. It was a hardened look that held back most of her rage, but still it could seep through. He wanted to know where she was staying? Why, to torture her further, to stalk Syr Silas and Yinka and say more disgusting, cruel things to a woman who had almost died during childbirth. Maybe he wanted to lie about them having sex again so he could brag about it and try to twist it as if it were shameful or whatever he had tried to accomplish in front of her friends.

"No," Her voice didn't shake, "You won't." She got up on her own, refusing to take any help from him or Syr Silas. Deep down she knew that Syr Silas hadn't meant to punch her the way she had, but it hurt, and why on Khurun was he going to punch anyone like that, especially when he didn't even know the truth about Him? Would Silas had drawn his sword if he did? All Lucero had to do was point and say it was Him, the man who hurt her on the mountain and left her to die.

"You... you!" Lucero was at a loss for words, but still she glowered at Him as if she knew exactly what she wanted to say. And then suddenly, she did. "I like it better when you're honest, but right now, whatever you're doing, this... weird facade of yours... I don't like it. If you're going to pretend then leave me alone." She sniffed up some blood, licked it off her lips with her tongue, and then turned from Him and looked towards Syr Silas.

"And if you think you'll get him locked up or in trouble, you're wrong. We've never gotten caught for starting a fight." The hint of mischievous pride in her voice made the corner of her mouth curl up, it was hard to get locked up when she could make emotions triumph over logic, it was actually a very easy thing to do. She removed her gloves, stuffing them in a pocket, ready to use the threads of empathy in her favor once more. With one hand she touched her nose, wincing and hissing like a wild cat, but the thrum of magic from her fingers would soon deliver relief.
 

Well this was a new side to the healer he thought he was getting to know so well throughout their erratic interactions…! She is squeaking like a mouse caught against a corner beneath the hovering paw of a cat, all spirit without the teeth to do anything about it, it was a damned shame that people were watching because honestly, truely, holding in the laughter was starting to hurt just a little. Lucero hisses about facades and not getting caught when in trouble, he is absentmindedly thinking about how good the burning of a cigarette would feel now against his ribs despite having finished one but ten minutes earlier, the static-shock of sticky warmth and the taste of ash… maybe it would damp down the need to howl with hilarity,

“Me??” Rois splays a hand against his chest as if to show how startled the butcher is that Lucero would dare turn teeth to he, the innocent party member, “I’m not the one that hit you. I’m not the one that needs to apologize for that mark upon your face or the blood at your nose. How is it my fault that he--”

A very brazen point to Silas.

“-- Is so sensitive he’d turn the merry festival about us into… this??”

It had been so happy before (not that Rois actually cared). Song and dance and cheer, the sparklings of delicious food beneath a high sun, the ambient coos of children against the joy of adults thankful for a day of festivities to chase away the working-worlds blues, now come to… this. No music played. No glee rang out. People were being shoo’d away by who were presumably the guards (cautious, careful men that did not seek to face the ire of a knight scorned, not yet) and the crowds were thinning, but a shadow loomed about the area like a miasma of woe marring all that had seen the ordeal affected by blood and tears and a pitched voice snapping. Rois’s eyes narrow just a touch. They have to, or they’d keep up their heavy desire to roll into the back of his head.

She knew only a brief glimpse of himself, back upon the stone where for the briefest moments a subtle kind of peace had taken hold of whatever their relationship was. Facades were very much the butchers thing, ever striving to manipulate peoples image of himself lest they get way too close, but in that moment he could not wear the mask that saw him aggressive and violent and flashing teeth and claws outstretched to harm. The headache was growing worse, he rubs the heel of his hand against a throbbing temple and attempts nonchalance through gritted teeth,

“I don’t care if you take your anger out on me.” … And yet somehow that bastard is still smiling, the deep baritone of his voice flits with a mischievous drawl, “Fine, go off with your emotionally unstable man-child. I’ll be anywhere but.”

A lie. Not about the direction of the womans anger, but about the 'being anywhere but near them' part. Rois has his hands on his hips and has arched his back a little to get to her level in mockery, but soon enough stands and, as if NOTHING had happened between them… goes to lean casually against the wall the woman had been battered into prior. Now, it was hard enough for someone like himself to blend into crowds and the half-beast most certainly still stood out with a head above the crowd, but what was suspicious was not the retreat itself; if the girl took a step back, he’d watch. If she turned, paused, and looked back, he’d still be watching. Smugness settles into stern features, the small, slitted black pupils are absolutely fixated upon Lucero from afar, paying no more heed to Silas or Yinka or the screaming babe. There is no attempt to hide the motivations glimmering in that ominous red stare. Her anger and wants meant nothing to him. Perhaps even less than.

He was going to stalk her regardless.
 
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