this isn't mischief
He loves it (the thrill of knowing she sees someone different, the way her head drops to cover her eyes, the way her voice comes out hinting at something suggestive) and it sends a tangled web of excitement down his spine. He notices the way she twists her body to envelope the wind (and the faint scent of lavender and rose that follows it). The warm, summer breeze that sweeps over them calms any sort of sweat or heat that might’ve built up against his skin. It leaves behind a pleasurable feeling and he sighs softly in content.
She introduces herself and he nods in faux greeting (although he could honestly care less what her name is or whether she thought the day was pleasant). The mask of the knight in shining armor grows heavy on his face, but he forces it to stay. The illusion of a smooth, gentlemanly smile dances across his face (something that is very real to her, but played up with tricks in order to keep it realistic for him).
Her hinting doesn’t escape him (he’s actually rather good at picking out the hidden meanings, especially after years of dealing with magic and politics and those hiding secret purposes in their simple-sounding words). “Perhaps a pretty miss looking for a comfortable home… I think I might have found one.” His fake deep voice races toward her ears, sounding as a rumble rather than the natural tenor of his tunes. “I live in Echo Trails, Miss Dya. Are you looking for a home?” He smiles again (it stretches stiffly across his face) and waits patiently for her answer.
lokii
this is mayhem
