"Anger? You think this is me angry?" Lucero gave a sharp bark of a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "The day I am angry you will think back to this day and call yourself a fool." Lucero cracked her nose back into place, pressing forefinger and thumb against it and make sure it was straight. While Syr Silas ony grunted at the man-child comment, Lucero couldn't keep silent. Or rather, she didn't say anything but still she could respond.

With a roll of moonstone eyes, Lucero did something she hardly ever did and flipped Him off before turning to walk away. Let him stand there and make a show of it all. Syr Silas had taken her by the elbow and he put an arm around Yinka, drawing her close to his side. The three of their backs were turned towards him not even considering that he would follow them.

Syr Silas was as silent as a statue, the loudest amongst the four of them still Kaif as he fitfully cried into Yinka's chest, his small hands curling then unfurling as if the baby boy couldn't make up his mind. Syr Silas dragged the women through the areas less crowded, using side streets to get away from the marketplace. Lucero realized too late that this meant she wouldn't be getting her bacon-wrapped sausage on a stick or a big cup of wine to make her relaxed and happy.

Lucero tried to wrestle free of Syr Silas's vice-like grip but he only pulled her harsher along and perhaps purposely let her knock into a passerby. Only when they could no longer hear music did he let go of them, inhaling deeply as if he had held his breath the entire time, for minutes, so focused on getting them out of there that he had no time to fill his lungs with air. All of them were quiet now, even Kaif.

'You're friends with that piece of shit?" Syr Silas broke the silence like it was nothing more than a toothpick that could be broken in half.

"No, I don't --"

"But you'd protect him despite what he said about Yinka who was on death's doorstep?" He interrupted her, not wanting to hear any excuses or explanations. Lucero lowered her head, bowing it towards him. One hand was clutching at her skirts, the other crossed over her chest to hold onto her elbow. She didn't know what to say to that.

"Answer me, you would rather protect him over Yinka."

"Silas, it's alright, Syr Lucero meant no harm." The knight ignored her, boring his cold gaze through Lucero until she felt the chill in her own bones.

"Answer me now, Syr." Well that was an order if she ever did hear one.

"What he said was wrong but you were going to hit him!" Syr Silas scoffed but Lucero continued. "Words hurt, but I think everyone would rather be told something hurtful than to get beaten."

"If I didn't know you any better I'd think maybe my punch actually did something to you. Don't get in my way again. Don't use your magic on me, ever. You broke your promise again. Just... just go to your room, I can't stand to look at you right now. And for fuck's sake, no sneaking out, can you ever stay put for once?"

Lucero opened her mouth, unsure if it were to argue or to apologize, but no words came out and so as she heard Syr Silas murmur to Yinka that they should take a walk (with Yinka suggesting they talk about things) Lucero decided that the only good and right thing to do was to listen to Syr Silas. So into the inn she went, the young daughter of the innkeeper kind enough to help her up the stairs and towards her room, even helped with getting the key inside after Lucero failed one too many times.

The moment the blind knight stepped inside, she shut the door behind her, leaning back against it and sighed so deeply that her shoulders curved forward, head tipping over.

All she wanted to do right now was put on a change of clothes and crawl into bed and cry into the pillow.
 

Syr Lucero?

How, on what planet could she be considered a knight, were they just letting anyone and everyone in now?! There was nothing about the woman who fitted the term, she could not fight, had no sword or armor, sure the female possessed a horse but it had been badly trained and neither acted as if they were duty-bound…! Rois admittedly knew very little about the title and its bearers and basically thought the propaganda surrounding them was real, so confusion was a given when the wife of the idiot spoke such a thing aloud; it had been very easy to simply… follow them from afar. Listen about the corner in mild shock. Try not to splutter in disbelief that she was not a noble protected but yet another sworn sword for the land, oh, the irony of it all, he just simply couldn’t keep knights away no matter how much he despised them-- and now Lucero’s attitude made sense. Now it was all coming together, her confidence was because some money, a title and a man barking orders at her had given her the illusion of power and the same self-serving, selfish attitudes that all knights had.

… The revelation did not change his intentions, however.

The innkeeper’s daughter had been easy to fool-- sorry, my friend just got into an altercation out there… I’m going to check if she is alright, the blind lady, Syr Lucero-- with the batting of dark red eyelashes, the flashing of a handsome smile and a wobble to his voice of fake concern the man found himself being led onwards with an uncanny amount of ease. This was a festival after all, none would surely seek to drag danger amongst the liveliness of an inn bustling with so many hearing ears and working eyes, and he had bloodied bandages about his temple and jaw to back up the 'altercation' idea… the young woman did fancy a glance, but asked no questions as the very thankful seeming half-beast was delivered right before poor Lucero’s door and innocently left there.

A moment of silence was taken to ponder how slighted he felt towards the rugged Syr Silas (still, the woman and the baby held absolutely no relevance in the butcher’s mind). The man and his toothed, growled out words towards Lucero were so harsh even he felt a little sour about it, not because they were mean… but because they were controlling. The thinnest lick of sympathy for the poor girl arose and was quickly and aggressively petered out, this was not about her, it was about him simply not liking men like that. The tone was familiar. The orders were, too. Large hands dragging someone about, the danger of a patience tested with little in the ways of a revolt coming from a victim frightened into submission… all underpinned by a muddy kind of love. So many moons ago had the length of a bed seen his blood, the eerily similar whipping of a hand about a skull, a large, nude body hovering above with threat, don’t do that ever again, I told you not to do that--

A weary growl escapes the mans throat. Not now. Definitely not now. The prickling of hairs standing up against the back of his neck were dismissed entirely with the sensation of black nails against his palm, the slight twinge of pain spurred the red-head to act-- the door’s handle was twisted… and when he pushes, he pushes with so much force that Lucero is simply shoved to the side with its movement, not violently, but still shifted none-the-less--

“I’m home…!”

For fucks sake. With a fake, giddy smile donned his big head is swung from side to side to try and find the blind knight first-- and once the woman is located with a back flat against the door Rois relieves her of the lean-to by closing it loudly behind him.

“Flipping me off wasn’t very nice, Syr Lucero. I am going to report you to the head-knight… or whatever they are called.” He inspects his nails casually without worry for her fear, adding cool-y, “No, I am not here to cause you nightmares… this time.”
 
The blind knight had heard voices outside her door but hadn't noticed that one voice in particular was one she both loved and hated to hear. Too soon, the door was pushing along the floor, just enough from HIM to peek his head into her room before letting himself in. The tiredness she had previously felt was gone, veins like melted candle wax and rage burned furiously in her stomach.

"Vete a la mierda," She narrowed her eyes at him, voice dripping venom. There was shock, but no fear, not this time. With a huff, she pushed herself from off the door, stomped over to him and jabbed a finger towards his face. "Report me for flipping you off? Go ahead, tell the Captains," that sort of threat wouldn't scare Lucero, "and it won't matter because you just broke into my room like a creep!" With every word her volume increased little by little, slow close to being a shout but still Lucero restrained from shouting directly at him.

Lucero couldn't forget that unbridled joy as everything fell apart, like a little kid who laughed and giggled when breaking other's personal belongings. She couldn't forget the sexism, the lying, the goading of Syr Silas, and right now, she wasn't sure she could forgive it. Maybe if she had time to cool down, think things over and sleep on it, surely the next morning she'd have been able to create an excuse of his behalf and forgive him, but right now she either wanted him out of her room or to lecture him.

Syr Silas was rubbing off on her more than she realized.

"What are you even doing here?!" Lucero finally asked, incredulous and exasperated, hands on her hips as she glared up at him.
 

The finger is ignored, just like her words were. The tinny pitch of Lucero’s anger threatened him not, she was still but a spitting kitten angry about-- in his mind-- her own stupid actions and malaligned bond with the violent knight off wandering somewhere. Rois takes up position upon the edge of the bed, sitting and taking fingers to the strings of his boots, unwinding the ties there with practised ease--

“... So, you can see something. I was wondering how someone who cannot find the walls of an alley could step in the way of a punch, or could point a finger at my face… very, very curious.” Thinking aloud with mirth, those boots are unceremoniously tossed beside the door with a minor attempt to at least make them land as a pair. The frame creaks slightly, the mattress was a mixture of wool and fine hay… a far cry from the harsh earth of a tent-bed or the straw-leaf combo of lesser inns. Such a thing was a luxury for a traveller, it would not be so easily given up, not when it could be taken for free; it just took the right amount of convincing. To play on her heart strings? Maybe do something physical? Lucero’s anger is palpable, Rois seeks to distract her long enough for it to hopefully burn itself out.

“Firstly, I am not a creep.” Says he, the one who had made up a sex scandal about them both in public. “Secondly, I figured you’d have lodgings somewhere… I am but a poor, diseased soul, Syr. My head is heavy. Surely, in your infinite kindness, you would allow the sick to rest for but an hour or two…? I would not want to fall again…”

Manipulation tactics in full swing, he is delicately taking off his shirt-- without the full answer of what she could and could not see, the butcher is in the dark as to what could and couldn’t be noticed. It means the man is doing everything in slow motion, as if the healer would spy the actions not if he was very, very careful. The sleeveless tunic is not slung. It is tentatively placed upon the beds foot rest at a snails pace.

“And my own bed is so far away… what a terrible situation I am in.”

Rois takes position upon the bed in a ‘draw me like one of your french girls’ pose, head gently coming to the cooling touch of a down-filled pillow with a long, sorrowful sigh.

“Only you can save me…”
 
Her eyes followed after him, head turning as he ignored her bubbling frustration and walked further into her room as if he owned the place. Hadn't she told him that she could see things? Lucero wasn't sure if she had now. He made it sound like he had discovered it on his own as if she had tried hiding it from him. It took her a moment too long to realize that where he is sitting is on her bed, the very thing she had been looking forward to in getting in herself.

"What are you -- hey, hey!" She squinted at him. It was hard to infer exactly what he was doing as it was whenever someone was sitting or crouching. She couldn't see the exact motion of arms or legs unless she used her shroud-weaving to make details pronounced. It was made all the harder to tell what he was trying to do when he was moving so damned slow. Lucero knew he was definitely up to something. "That's my bed." Stating the obvious wasn't going to change the fact that he was now taking off his shirt, a motion that she was familiar with no matter how careful he tried to be with it.

At least he had some decency to take off his dirty clothes, everyone knew alleys were perfect for drunks to take a piss or unleash their torrent of vomit. Her skirts were probably filthy. He hadn't even given her the chance to change into her nightgown - the sun would still be up for hours but that didn't matter to a young woman who's entire day of fun was ruined. It dawned on her that she had never been given his name, but he had hers and he used it so liberally as if it could place a spell on her.

"No. No, no, no, get off my bed." Lucero moved slower now, she knew she had dropped her rucksack unceremoniously somewhere about the room, the last thing she wanted to do was trip on it when she was trying to be serious, when she was trying to look like she had control. Her hands searched for one of his, finding a large bicep that felt like the size of her head. "If you're hurt that's because you didn't let me finish healing you, that's your fault, not mine. If you're tired then you can find a bed at another inn far away from this one."

Grabbing onto his wrist, she did her best to try and tug him up, widening her stance and bending her knees, pulling his hand towards her like a dog playing tug-o-war with its favorite toy.

"You are going to get me in so much more trouble than I already am!"
 

There was no movement.

Lucero could not possibly hope to move someone both heavy and dense, Rois did very little to hide the wicked grin at the haphazard tugging and allowed it without any defiance at all. A devilish thought did cross the butchers mind, why, if he simply tugged in the opposite direction… would the poor woman go flying towards him? Where exactly would she land? The only reason it was abandoned instead of being maliciously executed was because Rois did not actually want to invite her ire. Yes she was angry about the bed situation, but physically tugging her off of her feet whilst saying what he was about to say would be hypocritical--

“You should not let him speak to you like that, you know.” Abruptly, a thrum of seriousness could be found within those words. “Is he of a higher rank than you… is that the reason he can snap and pull you about like a doll?”

It was another attempt of distraction, but the playfulness of the half-beasts voice had simmered down a measurable touch, he didn’t want to give the impression of mockery. Rois was someone who bossed people about for a living. His entire crew were subjected to toothy words, barked commands sometimes split apart by childish insults… but despite it all, never had the breadth of the males large hands come to touch them as Silas’s had to the healer. There was a difference beyond the physical as well. They were beneath him, the red-head was their boss, and so the only time they received orders were to do with work… lift that, count that, cut that. There was never any attempt to control them or force them to do something they had not signed up to do, and even further still his constant bullying appeared to be a blossomed love language between a crew that had come to appreciate how such mannerisms stopped any sort of work-place tension; by keeping the mood so unprofessional, work became easy. After all, they had nothing to fear from him.

… But some part of Lucero seemed to feared Silas. Perhaps she had not realized how round those sightless eyes had come to be at the berating outside, how her fidgeting captured her as a child being scolded. Rois and the healer were both childish in some aspects, but it did not mean they deserved to be talked to as one. It was a type of disrespect that the butcher simply couldn’t understand, the knight tugging at his arm was submissive, nothing about their encounters had proved otherwise (despite how proactive the woman was in that particular moment) but to back down was one thing; to be walked over, another. He gave a sort ‘hmmm’ in his musings,

“Also, don’t ignore me.” The man spoke as if he was not ignoring her pleas in return-- “I want to know what you see. Would you cruelly deny me my curiosity?”

Because she had mentioned before she could indeed see something, but he hadn’t believed her whatsoever, thinking it was a pathetic attempt to make her seem less blind than she really was for the sake of protecting herself. Besides, there had not been any specifics…! Finally, at long last, it did appear that the idiot upon the bed was showing some interest in Lucero as a person...
 
She paused in her persistent tugging for a moment, still holding onto his wrist with both hands but her grip had gone slack. She was surprised that he had even commented on it at all and wasn't sure if she should be upset over the possibility of what he had overheard or that he had suddenly become serious over it. Perplexed, Lucero did decide to answer him.

"He is of higher rank than me," Wasn't it obvious? "Not necessarily in title,he could be a Pursuant soon, but even is he wasn't he has more experience than I do. And he cares about me, like a little sister of Dawn." Even if he tried to always deny it, Lucero knew that he cared about her. She was his dawn to his dusk, and after three years of being paired up repeatedly, there was a certain unspoken agreement to how each played into their roles. But that had been disrupted, their trust unraveling faster than Lucero knew how to fix, and the start of it was on that mountain.

"He saw me after you... you tried to kill me. He took me back to the Monastery and even when we got there I couldn't let go of him. Syr Silas is not a cruel man, but he doesn't know how to express his worry well, so it's not fair of you to judge him so harshly. Now, get out of my bed." She pressed a boot onto the bed frame, using it as leverage and gave a huge heave, flinging her head back from the effort. Lucero thought she might have gotten some movement with that one, even if it were only his arm.

Then another question. Why care at all what she could or couldn't see, he hadn't been interested before despite her being clear that she wasn't completely blind. Once again, she paused in trying to pull him off her bed, thinking just how much she should tell him. What could he do with information like that? Would it be foolish or unwise of her to be honest?

"I'll tell you if you tell me your name." He at least had to give her something back, especially while he still lounged about her bed.
 

‘Pursuant’, ‘sister of Dawn’, what did these words even mean? With a scoff as she intensifies her attempts to pull him off the bed the butcher decides fine, maybe it wasn’t too terrible to yank Lucero cleanly off of her feet as punishment for daring to actually shift him a little… but the tensing of his arm did nothing but threaten once again. No pulling came. Instead, with a low hiss, the words were suddenly lacking in the delicate furls of playfulness,

“I did not ‘try’ to kill you, I was originally waiting for you to die after you fell from your stupid horse, remember?” Carefully, there were the beginnings of tenseness in the mans tone… as well as something new against the lying, shadowy form. Blue…? Small, barely spotted rain drops upon a black street caught at night, rippling about in small, fine circles... “You said quite clearly that you can fix what could be seen to others as un-fixable; and you did, physically. You stand here today ‘fixed’… I do not think I had ever heard someone so sure of themselves that they could perform miracles.”

Not yanking but slowly pulling, if the lady knight wished to not have legs caught against the bed frame she would either have to lean her lithe form lightly or let go of the wrist those magicked fingers ensnared; against the delicate pads of Lucero’s touch his pulse comes a little faster at the underside of that thick wrist.

“So I thought, hey, if this woman is right, then nothing I do will matter on the outside. I wanted to knock your ego down a peg by showing you the difference between physical wounds and mental ones, because you clearly did not understand that fact before. You… you…”

I can help heal your heart and mind if you'd let me.

Eyes weep low upon the beds surface, preferring instead to capture the image of ruffled sheets and the tresses of a dirt speckled dress.

“... You didn’t even consider… my feelings.”

How it felt to live a life marred by anguish and strife, how it felt to have known a multitude of prattling healers just to have one be so confident in their powers, yes, I can fix you, I can do what everyone else failed to do. Such statements had triggered memories and feelings that had been buried deep, had taken years to smother down and still yet plagued Rois in the way of nightmares, terrible concoctions of herbs that made the youth choke and bouts of forced meditation, misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis, he stopped being a ‘person’ at some point and started being a ‘problem to fix’ for healers to pad their egos with. A challenge. A chance to show how great they were. Just a puzzle that needed solving, living was not enough, no, he had to live within the scope of whatever they deemed normal or remain broken forever. They all looked at him like that… Lucero had praised herself to the high heavens above and looked with unseeing eyes at him like that.

The dimly lit image of his mother with tear-kissed cheeks beside a tattered bed, promising that she would find more work, they would find more herbsmen and witches and healers, they’d fix him, they would. A ‘normal’ life was just within their grasps, if they just tried a little harder… and the months came and nothing changed. And the years came, and nothing changed. Rois lay there now with nothing changed in the aftermath of a seizure within the grasp of a healer who could only take the pain of the event away and nothing else, because no amount of magicks could soothe the ache of sharp memories or horrid experiences or mental scars that kept being picked open day upon damned day, it never ended, it was his existence. Just… a problem to solve.

Why couldn’t they look at him and see… a person? Why was it when the butcher lashed out against such rough, uncaring and inhumane treatment, as anybody would in anger and pain and sorrow, did he then immediately become a monster? Because he was strong? Because he 'looked' scary?

… Why did they never seek to befriend him first, or find out about the years of the past gone, or even do the man the courtesy of waiting for him to even be mentally well enough with the notion of ‘healing’? Those vaunted few gifted with delicate touches, why did they look upon his rugged form and immediately jump to 'fix fix fix I can do it I will do it' and nothing else? No-one ever wished to know, they only wished to mend. He was someone who struggled to keep emotions like wild-fires at bay, someone who tried desperately to stave off the resolute, ever-hungry sadness that threatened to consume his heart… but they'd never know that because they did not care. They did not want to take their time. They did not want to understand. All they wanted was self satisfaction and the ability to feel and show that they were better than everyone else. Blue, like rivers swelling, Rois tries to lull his breathing into a sense of normality once it is realized that he’d been huffing somewhat, even in that moment the sensitivity to the past threatened to devour him whole; the mere mentioning of feelings saw steadfast walls crumbling. If it was not the mountain incident that proved it so then it was this moment here that spoke aloud, I am someone who feels too much, I am someone who has to fight every day to stay calm, I am someone who is strong on the outside but tender and sore within.

“... My name is Rois.” I am someone, not something that needs to be fixed or analyzed or helped. “And despite whatever you think… I am just a man.”
 
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Oh, so he was waiting for her to die. Was that really so much better, Lucero thought, as his arm flexed just enough to remind her that when it came to strength he had more than her. The obvious fact was made all the more so when he started to pull his arm back to him, but it was slow and steady, clearly not meant to topple her over on top of him. She stopped using the wooden bedframe as leverage, both feet planted firmly on the ground, and hinged forward at her waist. She didn't let go of his wrist just yet, eyes focusing on the small purling of sorrowful blue beginning to show.

There had been playfulness before and a sort of relaxing squabbling that had Lucero feeling comfortable in expressing her anger. Now, seeing the change in the man, no longer playful but curt and then even that didn't last as somber settled into his being. She felt the quick beat of his heart, and slowly, as he continued, Lucero was gracious enough to lay his hand on his stomach and give a soft, gentle pat on the back of his hand. She still loomed over him, like a skinny fern frond that still curled at the ends.

When he didn't speak, there was silence and Lucero let the silence linger, not rushing him or coaxing him to continue. She liked listening, it was easier to listen than it was to speak, to guess the right things to say. But more than that, she liked listening to the whisperings of the heart. People often thought of their feelings as forces of natures, and indeed they very much could be, Lucero knew that all too well. But if she ignored the clap of thunder, the scream of wind, the rage of fire and the drowning of water, she could hear it.

Softer than a whisper, barely there, and yet it could be heard if she focused and listened. As a little girl it had been easier to hear the prayers of others, now Lucero wondered she would even hone it when it only ever felt like she happened upon it by chance.

Her hand found the crook of his neck, fingers curving up his jaw to trace over one of the badges secured around his face. He must have fallen often to have these, and to always fall on his face must have been frightening. He had bitten her out of fear, like a scared dog or cat, perhaps she had been too harsh in assuming what his end goals were with her. Maybe she judged him as dangerous like how people every snake was a rattlesnake and every spider a black widow so they were better off dead. Her hand found the bandage wrapped around his forehead and she placed the cool back of her hand against his brow.

Leaning over him felt much like how she had been when she had cradled his head on her lap. Fool, her little devil sniffed, look what your soft little heart has gotten you.

"I thought I did consider your feelings." Lucero admitted, brows downturned with sheepish regret. "When I first saw you, well, I didn't think you to be real. But when I touched you and realized you were real, the only thing that made sense to me was that you were cursed or possessed. You asked what I can see, and usually all I can see are souls and feelings. Your soul is bigger than others and... dark." Telling him his soul was a frightening as a pitch black storm wouldn't have been good, not now when he seemed unable to open up. "I didn't think why, I just thought... well, if there was some great burden you carried that you didn't deserve to carry it. But I hadn't meant to hurt you." Her lilting voice was firm on that. She hadn't meant to hurt him. "But I am sorry for making you feel how you did. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like that earlier today."

Now holding his name in her mind, it was no longer He or Him, that man or that monster but Rois instead. Lucero wasn't sure if the name really suited him, but a name was still a name.

"So let's start over." She gave him a smile now, but her face and eyes were still on the hand resting on his stomach. It took her a moment too long to realize that she should look toward his face as she said this, so she cocked her head to the side. Her blind gaze still wasn't correctly on his face. "We'll reintroduce ourselves. I'll start," Lucero cleared her throat, more for dramatic effect than anything else, "Hi, my name is Syr Lucero, Knight Sworn of Dawn, I am a healer but I do not wish to heal you without consent. Instead, I wish for us to be friends. So... what is your name?"
 

The inevitable; her bravery returned.

It always happened as such, initially, his presence was a suffocating heaviness backed up by spat words and heated scowls. This level of pressure and the unspoken threat caused beings to back down and submit lest their imaginations conjure up some grizzly end for them, or in Lucero’s case, a repeating of a near-end; but the more his anger was refuted the lesser it became. The lesser it became the more bravery came skittering back to weary souls, and longer still… it was evident that he really was but a person. Rois could not keep up his dismissive, snappy act for long stretches of time when he felt otherwise internally, it was tiring, being possessed by violence and anger was exhausting, and when torment was not at play and there was no reaction but fear to glean from the victim… what was the point? Boring, tedious, he returned to his ‘normal’ self easily, a self that always had to be protected in one way or another.

It was dangerous to be vulnerable.

His eyes track her movements, the gentle returning of his hand… and then the womans own fingers reaching out to capture his skin as if he was so fragile he’d break with any kind of meaningful pressure. No reaction. No outcry, no backing off, not even when Lucero slid finger-pads against the pulse of his throat or along the steady line of his jaw, but there was the slightest, tiniest hint of a flinch when they danced about the bandages. A brace. Rois hoped she had not noticed, but… the chances of that were slim. An uneasy chuff rolled from his lips. They were not yanked away. Thank every God above.

As for 'souls and feelings'… to those starry eyes, did he really look like…

“Ha… ha…” … Very awkward, the red-head actually could not imagine what such a thing could be seen as, the whirling of spirits, little faces emoting against the body? How much exactly did she know? Uncomfortableness, from someone who guarded themselves well against the notion that he could not be read now discovering that maybe to her it were easy as glimpsing the words upon a page. How could such a power be fought against? How could one stop emotion to halt anothers eyes from seeing them… distraction? More distraction? That could be done, the man had skill in that.

“Friendship… it is a funny thing. I’m not sure I understand the concept of it fully. You’d want… to be around me?” Remarked slowly without the skirtings of emotion (mayhaps feigning stupidity?) still beneath the back of her palm. There was no move to shake it away, not yet. “I will always carry the weight of the past with me; the question is, will you always be able to keep yourself from whatever darkness you see…? That is the thing about the unknown… it always beckons you back, Syr Lucero, Knight Sworn of Dawn.”

Now… the hand that had been returned once again possesses life, it moves to gently remove the woman’s now very heated hand from the space beneath soft bangs,

“As for the 'darkness'… not many notice, because they can’t easily perceive it. But you did. Funnily enough I am cursed and possessed; you were looking for the clues in the wrong place.”

The blind used their hands to see; he would oblige Lucero’s tentative curiousness. Fingers manipulating hers, curling all but the lady knights thumb inwards against the palm with very little strength or effort… something soft, something warm.

“Here…” Open mouthed the butcher would once again take a digit of hers to teeth but gentler now, the upper set seek not to grasp her like they had before nor come down upon the fragile thumb placed against rows of teeth. Their sharpness was not to be sniffed at even if they never break through her pads, in-human, even molars rose with unnatural jagged edges to greet her, and against the side of her slickening digit the inside of the mans cheek was scarred. Those jaws did not just bite outwards, they time and time again caught the inside of Rois’s own mouth so much so that the back ones were even more problematic than the curving of fangs that lent themselves snugly to her thumbs base… even the lightest flitting of the edge of a hot tongue bore the jaggedness of a muscle injured and healed in an uneven loop. Heated breath flushes the tan of her skin darker, he pretends the taste of Lucero’s skin is not delectable,

“... Here…”

It is slid back out with the thinnest strand of gleaming spittle bridging them as she is dragged lower, but not by much. The woman’s wrist is turned lightly so that her exposed palm could come to cup the jutting of his adams apple, Rois resting his throat firmly within that controlled grasp with tangible pressure; when he next speaks and thin skin glides against dramatically shifting vocal chords, there is something else,

“I didn’t even notice at first… someone else had to tell me.”

The growling had never been metaphorical. The words shook her hand with the usual heavy vibrations, talking, and then beneath the talking the quietest rumbling of an actual rolling growl… something speaking at the same time as him. Something snarling out in the depths of the red-heads throat somewhere amongst the rushing blood and shifting muscle, it took the already low register of his voice and dragged it deeper. It could still be felt when her hand was taken against the last stop, fingers ran against the rising and falling ravines of abdominal muscles… but not for long.

"And lastly, here." The moment Lucero’s palm comes to kiss his belly the heat she had been searching for becomes suddenly apparent, hot, so hot at that center that after a few seconds his skin begins to sting at hers like a rising fire had suddenly awoken-- Rois was hot everywhere, always at a fever-pitch, but against his stomach was an inferno that threatened to mar the woman’s already dried hands with burns. Completely unnatural. A normal person would have been dead. She is released long before it happens, of course-- none would be stupid enough to hold themselves against a stove. He has proved his point. No devil horns or lashing tails or folded wings, just black claws, evil teeth, a second voice and burning skin... the man is a subtle biological anomoly.

“So, my name is Rois Sinclair, and I am half human, half demon. The 'demon' part is hard to spot outwardly… unless you take the bandages off my head. Then everyone in this town will most likely die.” … How can he be so casual? No attempt at a sultry voice after all of that, just normalcy, the sadness of before had not disappeared but the butcher was trying very hard to at least seem a little more chipper so that the two did not dwell on horrid, yucky ‘heart-felt’ stuff--

“And I accept your apology.” … Incredible, no apologies given in return, typical! “Even if I were not half Shroud-fiend, I am confident my soul would still be as black as a starless night. As for friendship... I will have to think about that.”

ROIS.
 
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"O-oh." Lucero didn't pull her hand away, even after his announcement of being both cursed and possessed. She didn't question him why he had defaulted to calling himself a man. If Lucero were half hare she'd announce it, but if she were half dead? Perhaps not.

She sucked in a breath and held it in her chest, heart beating quick as her thumb felt the shape of his teeth. Lucero thought he might bite her again, crush his wicked sharp teeth against her bone until it snapped. Maybe he'd tear off a piece of flesh from the bone, like she did when eating a chicken leg. Her favorite part was the knuckle of cartilage, she always saved it for last. What would he save for his last bite? Was Rois the sort to eat his favorite pieces first?

If he had bitten her it would have only been instinct that would pull her out of harm's way.

The moment he had released her hand, she held it tight against her chest like she had done earlier when she thought he might break all her fingers again. Slowly, she tilted her chin down low and towards her collar, hot fingertips pressing against her jaw and cheeks,

Lucero was acutely aware of just how still she had become after letting Rois lead her hand from his jaws to his throat and then his belly, as if he had swallowed her hand whole. She knew how sharp and jagged his teeth felt, the scars inside his mouth that were rough instead of smooth. She knew how strong his neck felt, the width of it, the deep vibration of his voice, and that layer of another voice nestled inside his vocal cords. She knew how hot he ran, a permanent fever that raged untamed beneath his skin, threatening to scorch her own hand that was used to the heat, a hand that could flip a tortilla on a hot pan without issue, a hand that often searched endlessly for warmth.

And yet what surprised her the most was how incredibly gentle he could be when he wanted. Like before, his fang pricking against her neck yet not drawing blood, his claw curving against her neck so hairs would raise but she wouldn't be harmed. He could have burned her hand, and if it had, what issue would that have brought forth? Her anger, yes, but no permanent danger. Still, he had released as if he knew the exactly when it would begin to feel unbearable. This was indeed a man, a man who warned her to be wary of him for he claimed that even without the demon, he was dangerous. And because of this danger, Lucero foolishly thought him very much in control of himself.

She turned her face away from him, even went as far as pivoting as it suddenly dawned on her just how silly all of her thoughts were. She was curious, yes, that was fine, to be curious about him and what it was like to have a demon inside of you. Lucero once knew of a demon, a trickster and perhaps too much of an on-the-nose sadist, but she had left it behind when following after her father. Demons joining bodies with a human of course intrigued her.

But so had his teeth, and his throat, and his voice, and the blazing fire beneath his belly. He had flinched when she touched the bandages, so he must believe them to help keep back whatever horrible fate he promised if they were to be removed. Lucero considered her feelings, how a part of her felt a bit guilty. She considered Rois' as well, no spark of excitement. So the excitement she felt... clearly, it was for the demon. She was very much her father's daughter, after all.

Her cheek had sucked away all the warmth from her fingers. It made it easier to think. The blind knight slowly turned to look towards Rois once again, almost impishly, now.

"I have no trouble with darkness," Lucero slowly began to lower herself, hands feeling for the bed behind her. She sat at the bottom of it, near his calves, and was politely on the edge. "And I will have no trouble befriending you, Rois. I will take your words as a warning, but I am not afraid."

Once broken, always broken.

Blinking the memory away, Lucero smiled, looking down at her lap.

"I cannot see my own soul, my own feelings. I look at my hands or legs and there is nothing, only black. And if the unknown is the darkness," she turned towards him, beaming. "Then we're a little alike and all you need to be friends is to have a little something in common." For all she knew, maybe Rois also saw dead people like she did?
 

Lucero was… a little hard to read.

There were two reactions he had been fishing for, one saw her devolving into a flustered, heated mess, and the other would see the woman reeling back with fearful disgust; so when neither of those things happen he is blinking rapidly up at her with a perplexed expression. Was it her blindness that caused such composure? Was it some secret knight training that kept them calm… or was he too expectant and used to women acting like a mess about him? Perhaps it is a bit of both, for indeed there was the lightest coming of red to rounded cheeks; how the butcher wished in that moment to be a parasite that could bury into the kind ladies brain to read every thought that flickered there-- Rois himself would have gotten flushed over the idea of ‘gentleness’ however, so it is a very good thing the man upon the bed was not a mind reader of any sort.

More strange still is the fact that the healer was getting closer. There was some determined spirit in cliche utterings about ‘friendship’ as if the pursuit of such things could ever be rewarding, the half-beast really, really wants to ask aloud,

What would you actually gain by being friends with me?

… Because he could not phantom an answer, what exactly did Lucero’s pitifully tender heart seek, companionship from someone who had very little experience in even holding conversation aloft, no, she had the wandering bastard and the woman and her baby, so it could not be that. Narrowed eyes spare the flickerings of anxiety, were prior feverish thoughts true, was Rois to be her grand experiment to see just how strong her self-proclaimed healing powers were… she would chase him like the hound to hare to ‘fix’ whatever was deemed shattered within the darkness he held? People were not adamant about friendship without the hunger for gain. As if to suddenly distance himself from her the red-head flips himself over upon the bed, the action reveals two things, it not only sees a gap form between them-- the bed is smaller than a double but bigger than a single, and though he lays at the afar edge now it is still comfortable-- but is a physical contradiction to that sensual moment before. Hot, then cold. Close, then far. The proverbial snapping of fingers was the speed of the switch.

The alluring and slightly sexual act of taking Lucero’s hand to mouth and skin had been a moment of very good acting. It only existed to produce a response and held no real love or desire.

“You are aware you will not gain anything from ‘befriending’ me, yes? I have nothing to give you.” Rois resisted stretching himself against the mattress and instead rubbed cheek to pillow in a half snuggle, half itch against the roughness of the bandages. There was the small dancing of confusion about his tone. “If you want for something, you should speak plainly and save us both the hassle.”

The butcher was glad to have turned in the moment, bathed in the weak sunlight of the windows glare the man found it hard to keep a straight, neutral face. What was wanted was the flatness of indifference and boredom… but what sat there was the crinkle-nosed, brow-furrowed expression of puzzlement.

“We aren’t the same, also. I am sure if I had the power to perceive emotions or whatever then you would be alight with every colour ever created, just because you yourself cannot see it does not mean it doesn’t exist. So… you’ll have to try harder, knight, to find something we really have in common.”

A challenge, almost cut off by a whined out yawn;

“... Can you do so after I’ve napped, though…?”
 
"Maybe I will have nothing to gain, but I have nothing to lose either." She had plenty of things she could lose, her own life and sanity, her sense of wellbeing, her morality. She could lose friends, people she's known longer and immensely respected, her oath, her rank, her community. But inside the little inn room with nothing but a bed and a trunk (which she didn't know existed having not let bumped into it) it very much felt that anything she could lose was so very far away. Right now, he was gruff but not unkind, arrogant but not cruel. It was enough to have her feel there could be nothing wrong with befriending someone like Rois.

Truly, there was nothing for her to lose in wishing to befriend something who could offer her nothing on purpose. It was not charity nor greed, but there was that undercurrent of curiosity surrounding her thoughts of him when she considered why she would like to be his friend. It wasn't only that, there were other things.

Lucero smiled at his suggestion that her soul was pure and brilliant, a spectacle like a rainbow. It was a compliment even if he tried to make it sound like it wasn't one, and it wasn't degrading like when he had called her a good girl - a shiver spread down her spine. She reminded herself that her soul should be like what Rois thought, unblemished, soft, beautiful. It was ironic that he thought there would be a challenge, but Lucero wanted to keep it that way.

She wouldn't tell him the truth about herself, how much she fought with her own nature. She wouldn't tell him about her past, her natural disposition to be plagued by sin. She liked playing this sort of pretend, too.

"Hmm," Lucero hummed to herself, leaning her head all the way back until she felt the subtle strain in her shoulders. "If you want me to leave you alone on my bed then...." A devilishly playful cadence smoothed it's way into her words, "Give me a cigarette. A lit one." She sounded much like a cat that was more interested in seeing if they could get the food their owner ate rather than a dog that truly wanted the food. "If you do, I'll be as quiet as the dead."
 

She still had her sanity to lose.

That was still an option.

Ruby eyes hadn’t been open for a second there, but the naughty tone and devious words sure enough snapped Rois to attention. The soft rustling of sheets, the butcher rolls himself gently onto his back with lidded eyes regarding the lady afar with the same unbelievable flatness that they usually held, a look gone unseen by its target-- those eyes said, quite often and rather loudly, ‘are you an idiot?’ It was more sleepy than usual, but the sentiment was the same.

“So the smell can cling to you… ? So… awn, your bastard-at-arms can find another reason to come after you?” … Perhaps it would be in line with Rois’s image to have spoken those words with mirth, but in that moment the man chose not to (the energy for games had fled, it seemed). Not out of an intrinsic concern for a woman who had seen the breaking of knuckles against her face by said bastard in the hour gone, but because he himself did not want the unwanted attention. If Sir Silas turned blade to him, what was there to do? Rois did not actually possess any manner of fighting skills, if an opponent did not submit (and if fleeing would be wounding to ones pride), then there was but a single option for them;

They would have to die.

Somewhere far, ask for a duel away from the innocent people loitering below in baked streets, somewhere where it could simply snap his body in half and the knights screams could not be caught by the ears of law. Then, then it would rampage for a short while… who would it take then? The woman, her child, Lucero, and then…? Stupid, stupid, the poking of the red-heads fangs over his lip was testimony to the displeasure flitting in the black smoke in the way of a blueish-purple.

“I will give you one… outside, where you will keep it far from your clothes…” The staleness of smoke clung less when the wind was there to aid it. If Silas wanted to sniff Lucero like an old pervert she could always lie and say it rubbed off from when the butcher had been smoking earlier, yes, this sounded like a far more logical plan… a plan fast unravelling into white noise in that hazy skull. The red-heads voice is beginning to roll into a slurry of mumbled out phrases, interestingly, very interestingly… words had gained the tiniest, littlest edge, just a smear of an accent--

“... When you leave… me alone for two… two hou... r... s...”

Gaps taken to yawn, semi wheeze, huff; and something quite funny occurred.

That sentence is never finished. Maybe to knights it was nonsensical, but to people who lived on the road and camped in cots for a living, the comfort of a good, sturdy bed and clean pillows beneath your head was a reward so sweet and inviting that it could not be denied by the likes of conversation and company alone. Especially when you were already exhausted both mentally and physically from the literal misfiring of your brain and muscles. Notorious for being a prolific drooler the snoozer does not snore but is laying there with splayed arms, looking quite dead bar the stirring of his chest, mouth entirely open in mid speech and tongue hanging dog-like about his jaw with a growing line of spit slipping to the pointed tip… very handsome! It very much seemed like that, despite his protests, there had been no real care paid towards whether Lucero was in the room or not. The fight had been over the bed, after all, and that squabble had been won at the expense of divulging… feelings.

And maybe it’s a little sweet that behind the furling of semi-curled hair there are sparklings of yellow once again, the warm kind, the gentle dandelions return in their joy with the happiness of dreams beginning. If he was awake, no doubt such colours would cause him a great deal of embarrassment.

But he wasn’t. Another thing on the long list to thank the Gods for…!
 
She had never smoked a cigarette before, other things, yes, but never a cigarette. There was a sort of taboo that Lucero suddenly felt tempted to try. She knew that those who smoked often and for a long length of time had sickly lungs and throats. Sometimes it didn't take others long at all and the damage could be seen like grove infected with rot.

Lucero was still smiling even as Rois added a stipulation to her request, denying her gratification.. At least he didn't seem like the lying type, so far he had been very honest so Lucero was sure there was nothing for her to worry about. He would give her that cigarette, there was no need to be impatient.

Leaving him alone for two hours, what was she supposed to do? She couldn't easily leave the room, especially not quietly. Syr Silas wanted her in this room and to reflect on her actions. Slowly, she began sliding herself off the bed, knees now on the wooden flor. Walking on her knees, she moved herself two shuffling steps towards where the pillow was. There was only one pillow for the bed, although even if there had been two, Rois would have most likely had both beneath his large head.

Making a pillow with her own arm resting on top the bed, Lucero leaned her head against it. She was at a good angle to watch him sleep and see little yellow daisies blossom sweet and playful. The smile didn't leave her face, and she stretched her arm a little closer to him and pointed her index finger, she could lightly touch his bare wrist, finding the tempo of his heartbeat. With the song of contented calm, a usual state the body took, Lucero matched her own heart, steady comfort.

A secret talent of hers, human hearts were quick to copy, and while he slept, Lucero would do her best not to, wishing to prolong the nap for him. He must have really needed rest, but Lucero was not sure whether it was because of his seizure or if was overworking himself. And although her intentions were pure, as the minutes passed and her thoughts began to drift slowly into nothing important, Lucero fell asleep, too, as if perhaps Rois' heartbeat was the dominant maestro, but the truth was far more simpler than that: Lucero was tired, too.
 
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