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The Grounds. [Faye Manor]
Topic Started: Aug 3 2010, 10:31 PM (1,642 Views)
Damocles Faye
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Cute, white, and innocent? The smirk on his face still firmly in place, Damocles' head tilted in the slightest confusion. "Innocent? That's a strange way to describe a flower."

The thing was: he could take that a few different ways. He could take it to mean she was personifying a flower via the traditional symbolism of the color, but that was boring (though most likely accurate). He could say that you could never be sure with some daisies; he'd known a few that were down right devils, but then he came off silly. That made him think of a girl he knew named Daisy who in the end had been anything but innocent; except he had no intention of bringing up girls from his past. However much the word 'flower' could lend itself to certain...dirtier connotations.

But he was supposed to be a gentlemen, was he not? And they were in broad daylight.

Decidedly ignoring all of them, he only continued right on with what she'd said next, still curious about the way she'd phrased that without knowing how to express his curiosity beyond what he'd already said: it was interesting.

"I haven't." He confessed, but tilted his head at her anyways with a smirk as he leaned forward and said simply, "But I could take it."

Not a problem.

He was beginning to get the feeling that around her, he was never going to stop smirking or smiling. True enough, Damocles rarely stopped smiling anyways. He enjoyed his life--thought he would have to be a fool not to--and tended to have the policy of taking things with a smile..this just seemed to be more. There was something about the way she laughed, something about the way she moved, that just simply moved him too. Watching her pick up the skirts as she bounced up from the seat, his lips twitched at the sashay and he followed her with ease...and clear enjoyment.

When she thanked him however, Damocles' eyebrow popped up once more and he smiled. While he hadn't finished the remark; she'd caught his meaning anyways. He was thrilled to note that, considering how short a time they'd spent in each other's company. It was just, he supposed, more of the aforementioned 'knack'. So he beamed back and responded lightly,

"No need to thank me when I only speak the truth."

His brow was still furrowed as he began to ponder precisely what she'd said about what she wrote--when he suddenly realized she was...getting away. Literally, she was running off on him--and he chuckled as his mouth dropped a centimeter open. Oh-merlin.

And then he was off, running after her, chasing the swishing skirts and high laugh quite literally, forced to zig zag several times through the maze. He jumped over one vine, eyes far more on her than on potentially-trippable-landscaping and then realized with slight dismay she still was ahead of him. His heart was beginning to pound, and his breathing was sliding into regulated and practiced breaths from training. The difference from training?

His smile was still plastered across his lips.

Turning around another corner, he pulled his legs and arms in closer to actually focus on running as opposed to her. She clearly had a gift for ...distracting him. Slowing as he went to catch her, his arms went out to catch her waist, careful not to tear the fabric and picking her up--spinning around a minute later, still laughing.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia blinked as Damocles questioned her choice of words in describing a daisy, but she realized it was only because he'd never heard them described that way; he was confused, not making fun of her. "They're not the most flamboyant flower, nor the most intrusive. They're weeds, but they don't choke and kill off the other plants around them when they do get into an area. They're the flower that kids go into fields for to make chains of flower necklaces, bracelets and crowns. They aren't normally found in flower shops, which means when gifted it was as a result of picking them oneself, and therefore meaning so much more. They're sweet, and their perfume is subtle and unobtrusive. So yes, innocent."

Perhaps it really wasn't necessary for her to go into all that, for he wasn't necessarily challenging her. Yet, Anastasia was a writer; she was used to using unusual words for things, and then more often then not she did need to explain herself. It had gotten to be a habit, and more then that, she liked saying people's opinions in things they didn't quite understand with her to agree. Although this was probably an odd conversation to have with a man, and she was certain he would grow bored with it, she still let it out there before she moved on.

So she moved on. "Oh yes, of course you could." At this Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Puffery isn't attractive. Perhaps if it was an assumption based off of previous experience I would understand, but a Russian winter is very much like a plague. We lose many. It's not so much a proving of your manhood, my Lord, rather, a lucky survival and seeing as you were not bred in Russia, your body is used to an English winter and it would be much harder on you."

This she said in brute honesty, her eyes wide, dark, and solemn as she explained to him that it wasn't a subject for him to just assume he could because he was strong or brave or whatever it was. This conversation though, much like the previous one, was much too serious for her liking. So when he didn't take her assumption on what he hadn't said badly, she just smiled back at him.

Running was much more fun.

The maze itself was not all that confusing, only going up to about her waist with many beautiful statues and benches, but she only gave them a passing glance as she finally reached the end of it, just barely touching the hand of a cupid-like statue before she was picked up and spun around. She squealed in surprise and laughter, holding onto him tightly before she told him, quite loftily despite her breathlessness, "Ha. I won. What's my prize?"

Nothing wrong with giving him a healthy dose of competition.
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Damocles Faye
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Having never thought about daises--or indeed, any flower--in such a manner, Damocles eyebrow arched a centimeter while he contemplated her take with simple astonishment. Her knowledge alone would be impressive (Damocles had no idea what types of flowers choked out others), but horticulture appeared far from her goal. Lady Anastasia was expressing appreciation in a half dozen ways as though she described humans. They were talking about a flower he'd passed a half dozen times a day without paying them a second thought.

Curiousity alone would make him look at the next daisy he saw with the utmost care, hopeless to understand why she described them so extraordinarily. Lashed with a whip a moment later, her serious tone took him slightly by surprise. Without knowing what he could say to make up for it, he'd hardly gotten through nodding before giving chase.

Laughing with her as he swirled her through the air, Damocles set her down delicately, careful not to rip or muss her dress. Years playing with his sisters had taught him how much of a crime that could be. Anastasia was light in his arms; her edict that she bruised easily rang through his ears as he replaced her without stepping back. Blood was pumping through his veins with adrenaline, a desire to match her challenge overwhelming. He was smirking as ever, but his arched brow wiggled as he responded,

"Name it."

Although Damocles knew there were a few things he could not give, most things (particularly material) were easily within his grasp. Which was why he had the strange feeling she was about to ask him for something immaterial that would catch him off guard again...

His eyes caught wind of a sundial a moment later and he stiffened, realizing the time. The truth was, as much as he was enjoying his company, the Lady Anastasia had hardly come to socialize. Her brother lay in peril and though his desire was selfishness, his nature won out a moment or two later and he gently indicated the dial, still laughing under his breath. He was taken slow and easy gasps to steady his breath, his arm extending for her own to escort her once more.

"Oh. My father should be able to see you now." He said it with just a dash of unrest. His heart was still racing with the pursuit and unanswered challenge, but his promise to her came before that.

Damocles didn't break promises.
Edited by Damocles Faye, Aug 4 2010, 02:12 PM.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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Anastasia was extremely amused how careful Damocles was. Sure, he had just lifted her up and spun her around, but she had no more dust or pull on her dress as she had before he had done so. It hadn't been wrinkled or ripped - though she might have found that extremely amusing, to watch him flounder - but it put her in the mind that yes, he did have quite a bit experience in the area of those kind of clothes.

And, quite bluntly, she appreciated it. They were getting her more, but the outfit she was wearing currently was simple transfiguration. Who knew what would happen if the outfit ripped? Would the magic as well?

She would feel much better once it was real clothes she had wearing.

Despite the fact that he replaced her on the ground rather quickly, Damocles didn't bother backing up. As of such she could see his features overwhelmingly well, from his ego, flashing through his eyes, to his smirk, and the resulting eyebrow wiggle. It made her want to laugh again as she raised her own, carefully considering her answer to his simple response. Name it.

Truth was, Anastasia wasn't a very materialistic girl. Oh, she appreciated pretty things as much as the next woman, and she tended to self-indulge a time or two on clothes or baubles, but Damocles was offering to give her something and she had no idea what it was she could say. And, to be honest, she was distracted by the strength of the face in front of her, eyes lifted to his own. She could definitely draw his face, she mused, reaching up to brush his jaw before she really even thought of it as being an invasion of privacy. He was standing right in front of her, barely any space between them in result of it. She figured if it was a problem, he should have retreated, and stepped back.

Deciding that an honest answer wasn't going to get her anywhere, mirth leaped into her eyes, the sides of her mouth curling up as she leaned in to his ear - of course, having to lift onto her toes and use his shoulder for balance - and whispered, "The sun."

Wouldn't that be a lovely present?

However, when Anastasia leaned down back on her feet, Damocles was indicating that the time had passed enough for them to go see his father. It shocked her slightly, having almost forgotten why she was there, what she was supposed to be doing. Guilt rushed fast to clench her heart, her eyes widening just a tad as she realized she would be meeting Damocles' father with flushed cheeks and a possible grassy hem. It wasn't like she could bend over and check.

"Oh." The one, simple word was as expressive as it could be, brushing her fingers over her hair, and then her cheeks as she attempted valiantly to control her breathing. In, and out. The run had winded her a little, mostly because she hadn't been able to do much running ever since her pregnant stomach had decided to take on a life of it's own. The arm he offered her she took tightly, this time, as a kind of comfort item as she pushed away the conversation, pushed away the teasing and the fun, and focused only on her goal. On her plea in behalf of her group.

Dear merlin, if she messed this up...
Edited by Anastasia Zytsev, Aug 4 2010, 02:55 PM.
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Damocles Faye
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Life is full of funny little contradictions. The proximity had done nothing to still Damocles' heart, his lips continuing to flick with a smirk, his arms still hovering near her waist. Yet though his heart was pounding and a dull hum of their pants to catch breath rang in his ear, for a moment the world stood impossibly still when she cupped a hand around his jaw, fingers brushing gently. Her gaze twisted from a mirrored smirk to a gentle fascination; her eyes narrowed as they appeared to study him. A moment alone held time still, before his breath quickened louder and she appeared to remember herself.

His lips parted in his grin, but she swivelled up to whisper in his ear, her breath against it bringing his to flutter shut. The wicked grin and impossible request crashed another laugh out of his lungs and his eyebrows resumed popping. His smirk twisted as his head inclined and he chuckled, "The sun. And here I thought you were going to ask for something impossible."

Their mutual tease left them smirking at each other for a few heated moments, He broke the silence with a twist in his neck, his lips smacking as he remarked, "Yet, strangely I imagine even the sun would not be enough."

In his mind, it wasn't anyway. He thought for a moment and concluded, "Besides, where would you put it?"

Her small exclamation left him pausing, holding on to her arm slightly tighter, lacing his fingers through hers and only nodding a reply. The walk steadied both of their breathing, but while he slid the patio door open he paused a moment. Her hair was swept with the wind from the high-speed chase and he held a hand up to indicate a pause, his fingers sliding into her hair and tucking gently behind the piece she wore and her ear. His face screwed up with concentration; he was a lousy hair stylist, but it looked far more presentable when he'd finished and he smiled.

"There."

And a moment later after steadying nod, he released her arm, pushed open the door to his father's study and took a few steps in front of her.

Grandly, he waited for an official nod before saying, "Father, if I might present the Lady Anastasia, of Adygea, Russia."

His hand hung in the air behind her, gently gesturing that she might come through the door.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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"Not impossible. Just simply improbable. It would be quite selfish of me to truly get the sun."

Anastasia was glad that her request was responded to with laughter, but when he asked her where she would put it? Annie considered him for a moment before her gloved hand rested lightly over her heart. "I would wear it, of course."

Because one could take the sun and put it on a silver chain, of course. Anastasia wasn't known for her grasp on reality though. She was known for her fiction, her imagination, and she loved the idea of having something so bright and shining laying over her heart. One could even say it washer heart shining through. It would make sense; there was a movie she had seen and loved called Stardust, and that woman had shone whenever she was happy too. Of course, that was more of a white light. A blue/white light would probably just wash Anastasia out. She'd definitely need the sun's warm colors.

It amused her to be thinking about it at all, enough that she was able to calm her nerves before she was back at the study they had been at just an hour or so previous. Before going in Damocles turned to her to fix her hair for her. It pushed a smile onto her face, lids lowering slightly as she felt his fingers sliding through her hair.

She always did love when people played with her curls.

It gave her the calm she needed to regain her haughty, proud persona, chin raised as she entered the study at Damocles' invitation.

Her request would be accepted.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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--

&&

It was early morning, perhaps just as early as the servants were rising, but Anastasia didn't feel tired at all. In fact, she felt completely refreshed, buzzing with energy. The sun was still rising; the dew was still fresh on the flowers and blades of grass. She was barefoot, skirts trailing in the dirt as she perused the gardens in a much more personal way. When she had first seen them, she had just done that - looked. Now she stood in the beds, brushing her fingers against the baby-soft pedals, singing quietly with the awakening birds. A small arrangement flourished in her left hand, her right wrist adorned with braided wild flowers. A rose she had tucked in her wild curls.

She was Demeter, giving the earth love so it too could shine.

The baby bunnies she had watched amongst the flowers brought her the same joy of a mother seeing her infant; the robins singing in the trees caused her heart to be touched as much as the swell of Mozart. The sun was a personal spotlight for her; warming her skin and filling her with that light.

At one point, a young buck had come out of the adjourning forest to consider her. She'd been close enough to touch him, taking interest in the healthy sheen of his coat.

As if in a dream, Anastasia moved along the maze, dug into the dirt to remove weeds, and breathed in the fresh, clean air. It was not riddled with city here; she felt almost as if she was home. Had there not been a castle casting shadow behind her, if the hills had rolled more majestically, she could have believed that she was.

"Where the dreamy volga flows, there's a lonely Russian rose gazing tenderly down upon her knee...Where a baby's brown eyes glisten, listen. Ev'ry night you'll hear her croon a russian lullaby..." It was a lovely tune, Anastasia decided, if not a bit saddening. If only the composer knew how far they had all come? "Just a little plaintive tune, when baby starts to cry..Rock-a-bye my baby, somewhere there may be a land that's free for you and me, and a Russian lullaby..."

Those orange flowers were indeed quite lovely.
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Damocles Faye
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Morning. The sun came up, far too bright to be the blessing it pretended to be (what? he had sensitive cornias)--and he was forced out of bed for a ridiculous amount of duties. At least, that would be the case were he not awaking with a smile on his face lately a good hour before he was supposed to. It had come as quite the surprise for Rowland. But then, Rowland seemed to be of the opinion he couldn't dress himself either. Sigh.

That particular morning, Damocles was taking a ride, planning at the back of his mind how he might ask Anastasia to join him soon. In his opinion, there was nothing quite as effective at taking one's mind off things as a flight at daybreak. He had started the morning on his broomstick, preferring that for general comfort and height before climbing onto the back of his trusted steed and taking to the ground instead. The forests and woods surrounding his home were extensive, alight with life. Birds were breaking through the trees, rustling and cawing as his horse pounded the turf beneath him, kicking up dirt. He had a great smirk on his lips, wind and speed blowing back his blond hair. His knees pressed into the side of the mare to bring him slowly to a halt.

On the ground and all around him there appeared to be a field of daisies, sunlight falling gently on the white petals and bringing a sudden smile to his lips.

The reason appeared a moment later: he seemed to have come to the edge of the forest and back towards his own garden, where the beautiful sound of a lullaby was rivaling the birds in the air. His ears perked up and he urged the horse forward gently. He had no intention of stopping her from singing. He only knew he wanted a better view, wanted to be closer to her...

As such he said nothing until the tune had slowed (and his horse had taken a snap at something morning on the ground--a gnome, no doubt--and he was forced to officially announce his presence.

"Ah, it is a good morning indeed when I may lay eyes on you. Morning, Milady. Is that a Russian tune?" He asked lightly, his lips curling, going to dismount.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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She had been pruning away some twisted weeds from a thriving magnolia plant when she heard the clumping of what she knew to be a horse. It wasn't until she heard the horse attempt to bite at something did she rise, brushing off her skirts the dirt she had been kneeling in. It was an interesting emotion, she decided, as she looked at the man.

The sun was behind him, setting his golden hair alight in a way that only made her think of one thing: Apollo. He was quite beautiful, like she would have imagined the god to be, and his words were genial and melodic.

Of course, blonde men weren't commonly in Russia, unless he was a soldier. He sat on the gorgeous black horse regally, and despite knowing that it was dangerous - and he mostly likely was armed and looking for a fight with the men of the village - she moved her way forward, offering his horse the apple she had picked from a late-developing tree. Once the horse had bit it up into his mouth, she rubbed in careful, soothing circles along his face and neck to relieve tension. She, Anastasia.

"Da." She spoke softly, not rising to meet his gaze. They didn't tend to like that, and especially not from an unmarried woman. The noises of him dismounting did not reach her until the thump of him finding the ground; this made her startle, jerking her hand away from petting his gallant steed and moving back a bit further. "Dobroe utro, sudar'."

It took her a moment, but she pressed her lips together, switching to slow English. "Are you lost?"

The tune she didn't comment on; it was a bit of a controversial song for anyone in power over Russia, and the last thing she wanted was to get herself - or her family - into unnecessary trouble.
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Damocles Faye
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As Damocles hit the ground there were small puffs of dust escaping around his boots. He kept a hand on the mare, loosening the straps of the saddle for his comfort and insuring his small side-pack would not fall. As he ran his hand up the mare's neck, he massaged his own with the other hand for a heartbeat. Sweat and pressure relieved, he blinked at the Russian. Oh, he was supposed to speak it of course. He'd been in lessons since he could crawl for multiple languages--French and Spanish mostly--but curse his lack of attention span. Clearly, what they should have done was just presented the picture of the Lady Anastasia and informed him that one day he would meet her.

He'd have studied quite a bit harder then.

"No, I was out scouting--there's been some conflicting reports of a creature, I wanted to insure the beast wasn't surrounding our house..."

He knew she'd said 'Yes', (which he presumed was an answer to is question) and he knew she'd referred to him as 'Sir'. He took a few steps closer until he realized she'd retreated, switching to English. Blinking once or twice in surprise, he shook his head as a reflex. Damocles was perplexed. She appeared on edge--perhaps even fearful of him. Taking a moment to look at her--actually, look at her, he took another step forward. Her beauty was so overwhelming that it wasn't until he paused in front of her that he spotted anything was wrong. Pale red circles gave her eyes a border. Grey replaced the blush in her cheeks. And she definitely looked wary of his questions and appearance.

"Anastasia?"

Her eyes weren't even meeting his, but were cast somewhere on the ground. Head tilting, his hands dropped to cross on his chest, fidgeting with his perplexed air, a shaky grin in place in spite of himself.

That was business, however, and at the moment he wanted to focus on her alone. "Why aren't you looking at me?" All right, maybe and himself a little bit. "Anastasia, have you--are you--have you been crying?"

His hand reached for her cheek slowly, gently--trying to see better what was going on.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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Whatever the man was saying, Anastasia didn't understand. He said something about his house, but the visiting soldiers usually referred to their host houses in impersonal, unimpressed ways. The used, abused, and ruined them, complaining about the food or the heat. It was always the heat; no imposing country would come to Russia during the winter. It was both a blessing and a curse; the Russian soldiers and rebels were equipped to handle the blistering snow and harsh winds. More than that confusion though was the one when he referred to 'conflicting reports of a creature'. Sure, they had animals and magical creatures, but they had some kind of peace. The animals didn't bother them, and for the most part, the creatures stayed away. Every once in a while they saw them but...as in sensing she wasn't dangerous, they'd always left her alone as well. It was simply their nature.

As it was her nature to be curious, "What kind of creature?"

When the man spoke her name, Anastasia's eyes did meet his for a split second; shocked, her eyes had flown up to look at his own, searching for a recognition that she didn't understand. It only lasted a second; her gaze dipped again, and her voice was shaky despite her hardest attempt to keep herself from appearing frightened. When they knew your name? You were good as gone. Terror was wrapping a cold hand around her heart and squeezing, icing over her lungs so all she could take was short, fast breaths. Even as gentle as this man's voice was, his words broke goosebumps over her skin. 'Why aren't you looking at me?' She could all but feel a gloved hand gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She could see those brow-

Blue. She'd looked up as if the phantom motion was real, and it was blue eyes she was looking into. Asking her if she'd been crying. Her cold fingers rose to her lids, checking them for wetness. Had she been crying? She didn't remember. The flowers had long dropped to the ground, and Anastasia realized that maybe she hadn't been crying, but she was about to. At the same time, a thin thread of pride forced her to hold them back, refusing to give that satisfaction.

But he was reaching out to touch her, and that was too much; her heart was splattering against her chest like a cornered rabbit's might have, closing her eyes as the water spilled over and dried against her hot face. "What do you want with me?" Her whisper cracked, frozen and afraid to move. The only soldiers she knew to be gentle never ended that way...
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Damocles Faye
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At first, the question was easy to answer. To most in the village he was trained to say 'creature' or simply wolf. His excursion had given him enough footprints of both kinds to know otherwise, and Anastasia was magical. He could admit it. Werewolves weren't uncommon in the north; they'd even come into the forest in the past. He left them be so long as his village was safe, which at the moment it seemed to be. It was for that reason however, that he was not thinking about the wolf. It was daybreak, weeks before the full moon, and he had more pressing worries on his mind.

Anastasia.

One look from her face and he knew: He could tell her later. The last thing he wanted to do was add even more to whatever worry this was.

"I'm figuring that part out." He promised. "But for now it seems we're safe, and I'll keep it that way." Damocles was not speaking these promises lightly: any attack on his home would be met with an iron fist and that was simply fact. Still, his words were light as he did not want to frighten her. It seemed he was terrifying her just by standing close.

Quiet and unsure, he took a steadying breath and dropped his hand in surprise at her question. Whomever she was seeing, the inquiry brought home that it wasn't him. "What?" She either didn't recognize him, or was actually hallucinating. For a moment, he thought back to the Confusing Concoction that Leigh had slipped him once and wondered if this might not be a similar case--though he couldn't for the life of him understand why someone could want to hurt her. Brow furrowing in puzzlement, he kept his eyes steadily on her own. The red rims, her fingers patting them down, and the grey skin told him it wasn't perhaps a potion, but something else was wrong.

So he took a steadying breath. If he couldn't understand, maybe he could at least help. That was his priority: take care of her, then figure it out.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said without hesitation, taking a step back to prove his point. "I want to help you. What happened? Are you hurt?"
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Anastasia Zytsev
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It just didn't make sense. Everything she knew about soldiers did not match up to this man standing in front of her. He'd not been abrasive, loud, physical...he'd not pushed or prodded or dragged. He wasn't cruel, nor crude. Actually, in fact, he seemed rather cautious. careful, and confused. The fact that he said he didn't know for sure what the creature was didn't phase her all that much. 'Conflicting reports' usually meant unsure knowledge, at the very least. The instant threat that he would keep the area safe from this alleged 'creature' did get a response from her; she frowned, tucking her arms around herself, and as non-argumentative a tone she used, the words were still heated, "If it isn't doing anything to anyone, then leave it alone. They were here first."

It was a pet peeve of hers to go out walking in the woods adjoining her town only to find that soldiers had crushed a habitat and left the bodies to rot. People were scared of things that they didn't understand, but they were the most dangerous creatures of all. The animals were just protecting themselves; she didn't know many to attack unprovoked.

Anastasia felt slightly more relaxed when he pulled his arm away from her, slowly gaining a slight bit of security. If he hadn't done anything yet, would he? Was he waiting until her guard was down? Usually they didn't have so much time to play with their subjects. He seemed just as confused as she was, and this time when she looked at him her gaze stayed. It wasn't steady, nor comfortable. It wasn't confident, or admonishing. Yet, she still looked at him, gaging his honesty when he told her that he wouldn't hurt her. He even moved back, and that itself was something she wouldn't have ever expected. She found herself relaxing just a little, but her head tilted at his last question, looking down at herself once again. She didn't think she was hurt, just like she didn't think she had been crying.

"I don't know what you're asking." She finally settled on, wetting her cracked lips so she could finish, "I was just weeding."

Aware again of her bare feet, she flushed, a purple-looking color against her translucent skin.
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Damocles Faye
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"If it doesn't do anything, I will."

That was true: Damocles didn't attack without cause if he could help it. Still, he said as much more for her benefit than his own. His words were echoing oddly in his ears, words spilling before he thought about them as his thoughts were firmly on the well being of the woman in front of him. His eyes checked her over with a cursory glance, trying not to linger--trying to keep his eyes on her own while insuring she wasn't hurt. There was no gaping hole of a wound anyway--and she didn't appear to be bleeding. His eyes met hers again, understanding distantly it meant this was psychological--whether magically influenced or not. Psychology.

...Not, Damocles strong point.

His nose wiggled while he took another steadying breath and he remarked very slowly, "Okay. I'm Damocles Faye, milady." His hand went to his chest to indicate himself with his caution: more so for his own benefit than hers once more, reminding himself of the basic facts. "You were weeding in...my garden." He indicated the maze close by. Watching her skin flush, a sudden compression in his chest startled him. Fear flamed in his heart: Anastasia had never told him what Parker had. Was this the first stage of his illness? Red eyes, pale skin, amnesia?

Had his heart just skipped a beat?

"Let's sit down." He offered just as carefully, not even sure if there was a bench nearby. Strangely, though it was her that appeared ill...he believed it was he that might faint.
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Anastasia Zytsev
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"No. Don't do anything at all to it. It has every right to be here. If it attacks someone? It's most likely because that person provoked it. They don't just randomly decide hey, I'm going to go bite or claw or tackle or spell or whatever, a human. For the most part they stay away from us. It's the attacked human who should be punished, not that poor creature. Leave it alone." She insisted, forgetting, for the moment, that she was scared of him. The longer he did nothing but speak, even not touching her, the more secure she felt.

It made her angry that he was coming into their land, and their area, and deciding to slaughter the creatures of their land. It was unacceptable to her, and particularly heartbreaking.

His name didn't really tell her anything; it flowed nicely, and was quite the typical British name; something that was solidified by his accent. She didn't recognize it, by any means, though he still had known her own name. When he said that she was weeding in his garden though, temper flared.

"Well that's typical. Of course you and your sort would come in here, assume control over our lands and our animals and even our gardens? I'll have you know that we don't depend on just our gardens anymore, thanks to people like you. Thanks, but I do not wish to sit down. My babushka is waiting for me."

Just as fast as the flush had appeared, it dropped away in her swaying, having just about to storm off. "In...in just a minute." She muddled through, pressing her palm to her forehead. The ground was moving like an earthquake, though she'd never actually felt one before. She couldn't remember if Russia even had earthquakes. She didn't think so.
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Damocles Faye
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The rapid fire speech about animal rights was making Damocles head spin as he had honestly never considered werewolf attacks anything but unprovoked and figured he ought to have told her that's what it was. She was reacting like he was going after a magical creature that had owned the forest first--not a human who lost control of themselves and would kill their best friend if they crossed paths on a full moon. Of course, that made it a sadder story in Damocles opinion, but it wasn't one of 'who owned the land first' anyway, which was what he thought he was getting lectured about.

The lecture wasn't what he was paying attention to, to be honest. He was watching the rising flush in Anastasia's cheeks. His eyes were trained on her slight swaying motion, the screwing up of her red-rimmed eyes, her continued insistence that she'd never met him before. It wasn't until he realized he was getting yelled at about proclaiming these gardens were his own--which, he was fairly certain they were-- that he was drawn back into the conversation itself and not his growing worry that she might collapse.

His voice was raising with each word he spoke.

"My sort? Assuming control? Anastasia, I don't know what you're talking about. We're in England, you sought out my family and manor to help you when your brother, your brother Parker fell ill--"

She was swaying dangerously now, her palm pressed to her forehead and it was clear to Damocles she wasn't listening any better than he felt he was. They were having almost two entirely different conversations, words heightened with emotional notes of desperation and anger. His words were tinged with his fear, his voice quiet and firm. When she gave a particularly nerve-wracking shake, his control and restraint melted. He took a step forward to reach for her hand and waist, wanting to steady her. He had no sooner stepped forward, that her legs appeared to give way altogether. His voice slipped into a commanding tone in his shock,

"Anastasia!"

His arms caught her due to reflex as opposed to forethought: her reluctance to be touched had been forgotten. Her eyes fluttered shut in her dead faint. His thumb caressed her scarlet cheeks, drawing back sweat. Tracing his fingertip, he seemed to remove even the faintest color from her pale skin, and his panic gave way into another shout.

"Anastasia!"

But she did not wake, and Damocles lifted her into his arms as easily as lifting a doll, gave his horse a swift pat on it's hindquarters to order his steed back to the stable, giving it no other thought as he turned back towards the manor and took off at a galloping pace himself.
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...time is a valuable thing; watch it fly by as the pendulum swings...
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Rebecca Cowen
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Although she presumed it was positively foolish to assume that Rowland could still be in the gardens after he had already left her flowers from them: she decided it was a place to start. Her smile wide and her eyes bright with her happiness, she ignored the nagging sense of guilt in her stomach: they were supposed to blend in. That was the point. Sitting in her room was going to attract attention.

And that was all the thought she needed to give that.

Swallowing under her breath, she quickened her step until she had left the manor, her hand gliding down the rail as easy as her feet did the stairs. There were people everywhere, weren't there? No-one looked up as she passed; it was rude, she assumed, yet she could not help but look curiously herself. Gardeners, courtiers who had not yet gone home from the ball, and servants running harried errands made up a landscape abuzz with life. It was such a picture of life that Rebecca was wishing dearly for her camera. It didn't escape her how lucky she was to see this, despite the dismal circumstances.

Oh merlin. The moment she turned into the gardens near the maze, people seemed to melt at the edges of her gaze. It appeared the gardens were such a place of peace that she had also found an edge of solitude. Running her hand along the walls of grass as she moved, she started looking for wildflowers that matched the ones in her room, her eyes wide with her discoveries. A stone bench sat in the middle of the wild hedge she'd come up with and she drew up beside a statue of an angel, running her hand over the wings.

She had the feeling she'd seen it before, and although she tremored with the recognition, she was still smiling.

Hearing a rustle in the brush behind her, she suddenly stood straighter and spun around, eyes going wide. Her smile replaced itself once more when she saw who it was.

"Oh! Rowland." And now she was blushing. "I was looking for you."

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your eyes whispered: have we met?
this night is flawless: don't you let it go
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NPC-- Rowland Stone
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[Abi!]


Work outside: sometimes it was a welcome difference because it meant that you didn't have to be cooped up in a stuffy manor all day, and at other times it was burden due to an unbearable amount of heat and humidity or quite the opposite, because it was ghastly cold and freezing. Today, however, it wasn't entirely too bad. Actually, apart from the fact that he had to be picking out weeds for what felt like the infinite time that month, it was actually kind of perfect.

The sky was a relaxing blue, the clouds were puffy and full, not wispy and stretched out like sometimes. There was a gentle breeze going about, and coupled with the sunshine it was pleasant to the touch; no coat or shawl was necessary, well at least not to him. It was no doubt the entire mood of the day that had him acting rather boldly (well, boldly for him) in picking out flowers for the Lady Rebecca and delivering them to her room. He had to do so rapidly, and he rather wished he could have chosen from the more enchanting ones but the absence of those would have been noticed far too quickly. Afterwards, he rushed back down to the gardens, happy to know that he wasn't in trouble for leaving his work.

Back to more weed pulling.

Right as he moved, however, he heard a name addressing him and he looked up to find...well, beauty personified, in his opinion. "Lady Rebecca!" he exclaimed, perhaps a tad more energetic than what was proper, as he stood up straight, grin immediately on his face. "You were?" He knew he shouldn't be sounding that happy about it. Focusing once more, he continued. "How may I be of help?"
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Rebecca Cowen
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Evidently, she had surprised him as much as he had surprised her. Bringing a hand to her lips for a moment to stifle the smallest giggle, she realized she'd forgotten what she was going to say for a minute. He'd already gone back to work. After sneaking her flowers, a risk by all accounts, he had gone directly back to work. After the way Damocles had acted, anyone would have expected that Rowland never did an honest minute of work, let alone day.

Yet here he was.

The Fayes were idiots, Rebecca decided. They were arrogant superior idiots who had no idea how wonderful Rowland was, and they didn't deserve this kind of loyalty. She could think of a few things they deserved, but Rowland's devotion wasn't one of them.

Thinking of Damocles for a moment however, reminded her and she dropped her hand, still smiling.

"Actually." She took a step closer towards him, hands going to grasp each other and fidgeting for a moment. "I think it's how I can help...you." Now her hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear as she tilted her head.

"See I went to see Damocles..." She paused, sheepish. "And I think I might have snapped at him a bit unnecessarily...anyway, he said you could have the day off."

Her smile returned and she stopped moving. There wasn't anywhere for her to go. She was already in front of him. To move closer would be to...well. "And then I went to get my shawl.." Which she wasn't wearing. Oops. "To come tell you. And I found the flowers..."

She straightened, her hand fell. The strand fell free once more.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

It was a whisper.
Edited by Rebecca Cowen, Dec 16 2010, 04:42 AM.

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your eyes whispered: have we met?
this night is flawless: don't you let it go
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NPC-- Rowland Stone
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[Abi!]


He was a moment away from quoting Shakespeare, he was sure of it. The problem arose when the first thought to occur to him was to speak out "But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Romeo and Juliet, not his favorite work by the playwright, at all, and yet it was the first one to come to mind, even though there was no window in sight. Happy at that moment for possessing at least some control over his speech, he just refrained from speaking in general until he had other, non-Shakespearian inspired, words to say.

Were I a glove upon that hand so I may touch that cheek? No, her hands weren't anywhere near her face.

His curiosity increased when she revealed that she was here for entirely the opposite; she sought to help him. He did not quite understand. "I don't quite understand." Repeated for emphasis.

Once Lord Damocles was brought into the matter, he was sure he must have been dreaming. The words 'Damocles' and 'help Rowland' didn't ever belong in the same sentence unless the word 'doesn't' was there to separate the two.

Day off? He was definitely dreaming.

"Is....this a trick?" he asked hesitantly, laughing slightly at himself for the question. It did sound like something Damocles would do just not through Lady Rebecca. At least, he hoped that it was true.

The flowers! He grinned abashed momentarily, looking down briefly, before he looked up at her again only to hear her say that he didn't have to. That notion confused Rowland. Was she under the pretense that he was doing so and spending time with her because of duty or something of the sort?

"I'm aware, it's partially the basis of its appeal...but I wanted to, he explained quite simply. He didn't know how else to state it.
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