02.09.3014: Fight Night
Summary: Luke and Rozlyn, finally have their spar.
Date: 20/11/2013
Related: A Study of Patterns , Is Logic Treason?
Luke Rozlyn 


Private Training room, The Ring
A generic training room, complete with mats, and benches.
02.09.3014

There are public training areas, but Rozlyn is not likely to use them. The standards are questionable and they're just not what she's accustomed to. Instead, the training rooms of the Orelle (and, by extension, their vassals) have been reserved for the spar at the scheduled time. It's a strange mindset that allows the noblewoman to do something that is, in many ways, so personal. Allowing someone into her bubble.

Seated on a bench outside the mats, Rozlyn is adjusting the supports at wrists and ankles. She's wearing light-weight clothing in dark grey hues; a well-fitted top and pants. The latter are nearly on the level of leggings. While much of her clothing is fluid and masks aspects of her form, there's no denying it in her current attire. She bears a feminine form, yes, but there's the lithe forms of musculature borne of one who tends well to themselves.

Rozlyn is early, yes, but she doesn't seem worried about the time as she waits. It's almost, but not quite a meditation.

Not late-thankfully. That would just not do, specially with how things have progressed-or regressed depending on one's views of behavior in recent days. Luke arrives at the appointed place, dressed casually enough. Perhaps not his normal light armor that comes with training squires or men at arms, but he is definitely dressed in athletic wear. A synth cloth tunic, which allows for the body to breath and movement to occur, and pants that are more military in nature.

The door to this personal training room, gives the light swish and seal close once the knight has come through, and he moves to the bench where the noblewoman sits. "Sorry if I am cutting it close." Luke says softly as he sets down his bag, and unzips it. "I am was held up, but- thankfully I was able to plow through that obstacle." A glance back as he pulls out tape and cloth. "How are you?"

She didn't cancel the training. That speaks, at least, that things haven't regressed too far. Rozlyn watches Luke approach under slightly lowered eyelids. It would almost be a tired expression if it wasn't for the alert gleam within their dark hues. The woman, at least, doesn't seem bothered by his joining her on the bench.

"You are on time. I cannot say as much for Cedric when he spars with me, though I suppose children are an acceptable excuse." Rozlyn is focusing more on the wrist and ankle supports; not avoiding his gaze so much as not putting any effort into meeting it. "I am well enough, I suppose. I forgot to… offer my appreciation for ensuring I made it back to the Tower without meeting any undue circumstances."

"I am uncertain, my apologies. Should I offer condolences or congratulations? I know that for men, procreation is not always expressly desired." Rozlyn's brow does furrow slightly as she rises and moves a few strides away; providing them both space as they begin to stretch. She's flexible and fluid… almost in whole dissonance with her projected personality.

There's a silence for a time as she gets herself limbered up and breathing steady. Finally, Rozlyn straightens and looks to Luke, hands rising to check the braid in her hair. "I have not, no. It is not an easy decision to make, I am afraid."

Luke chuckles. "I would not worry about it one way or the other. I was merely trying to describe my inexperience in dealing with children. Though I was around for my niece and nephews." said softly, before he is moving down to the mats as he stretches out his legs. "I do think, eventually, I would like to have children-though I worry for any woman who would see me in such a light." Mismatched eyes watch and perhaps there is an ogle in there as Rozlyn stretches out, but for the most part, Luke does not comment on it.

Once he is done he is rising up, his fingers scratching through his red hair-before he is raising a brow in her direction. "I understand. I would like, if you feel that you can, let me know which way you go?" A roll of his shoulders as he moves to the center of the mat. "What are we going to? First blood? Pin?"

"I find I enjoy spending time with my nieces and nephews. I do hope to be the first lab one of them works in." There's something of a tenderness in her voice as she speaks of them. It's a tone that rises whenever she speaks of her family. So perhaps, yes, Rozlyn Orelle does have a heart. "I am uncertain as to the source of this worry, Sir Luke. Do you feel you would be an unfit father?"

She's soon moving towards the mats as well, taking a moment once stepping upon them to let her feet adapt to the more forgiving surface. Rozlyn tilts her head in a slight nod to the Grantham. "I will let you know. I do not see any harm in that. As for this… I usually go with the first to pin, though if you would prefer somewhat else…"

"Mine are grown and serving in the Legion with me. I tell you it's very interesting to have seen them grow up and come into the life you have- as you were growing up." Luke quips before he is shaking out his leg. The tone is noted, but at least the knight has the grace not to make a joke or to tease. "Are all your family as inclined as you?" meaning of course scientifically.

"Unfit?" A pause as Luke considers that. Rocking back at his heels he shakes his head. "No. Perhaps not trusted to be a good father by the other party is my fear." a chuckle there. "It's odd the things, that I do fear as opposed to what I do not."

A glance is given her, before Luke is moving into a fighting position, hands coming up as he bounces slightly on his feet. "First to pin works fine with me-shall we put a wager on it?"

"I find philosophy to be interesting… to an extent. There is little concrete and so much to be swayed by personal feelings and emotions. What one feels one day may wholly alter the next. There is an uncomfortable level of what it lacks in precise answers."

They both have their ways of not being clear, it would seem. Rozlyn watches him somewhat as he explains his fears and she seems unsettled briefly. It's a thing between one breath and the next; a wavering in eyes, a shift of the shoulder. Once gone, however, her focus is back as she takes in the wager.

"I can handle those terms."

This, it would seem, is enough for the Orelle and soon Rozlyn is shifting in towards Luke. She's not making an attempt to grab yet, no. She's testing him; seeing how he reacts to a feint towards his left.

"That is one school of thought. Another seeks to distance thought from emotion." Luke adds with a faint grin. "I am a fan of the school that is in the pursuit of wisdom and truth, personally. And sometimes those things do not have precise answers."

A glimmer seen and caught, and there he moves-only after the terms are accepted. A grunt of acknowledgment as the game begins. A feint to grab and he flinches to his right briefly-before he comes in, pushing into his left as he swings a blow for her midsection. Not a grapple-but a means to one. If she was expecting kid gloves from Luke-he apparently left those at home.

"Stoicism," Rozlyn replies with a slight shift in expression; not a nod, but an aspect of acknowledgement. "I am a follower of that, yes, though I find it better to simply assign myself to practice than to spend long hours in discussion-"

Any further is cut off by the approach of the Grantham and the Orelle finds herself caught in focus. Rozlyn evades the blow to her midsection, turning with a smooth stride inward, trying to find a place within Luke's stance to take him off-balance. There's a focus in the way she moves that is vastly different to how she works. It's more born of practice and instinct than anything cerebral.

"Yes." Luke says mid swing. "Stoicism, some how I could picture you as a practitioner of that particular school of thought. Though Rozlyn, might not be for finishing her own thoughts, Luke is more than ready to expound on his own.

She moves in, and he tries to move to counter. A flurry of movements, in which he is twisting his body-hopefully away as he levels a blow to push her back from getting in too close of his reach. No need to let her gain the upper hand just yet.

"No need to picture, Sir Luke. I am a practitioner of that far more than you may ever find me in the Chantry."

As she adapts to the flow of their match, Rozlyn finds discussion easier. Even if she's more prone to short statements and a more rushed, clipped tone than usual.

While Luke's attempts are more violent, more prone to blows… Rozlyn's are more flowing in nature. Redirections of power and in that, she finds herself an opening. While he tries to push her away, she uses that to her advantage where she's stepped inside his reach. There's a grab for his arms as she moves with that twist, angling her hip in towards his midsection as she attempts to send him down to the mat itself.

Well, sometimes you are quick on your feet, and other times you are not. His style has been developed on Ignis, and he is more comfortable in keeping his footing and lashing out blows instead of sending directing energy off in a different manner. As it is, he leaves himself open and is taken down with a satisfying thud on the ground. Teeth sufficiently rattled, Luke barely hides the grimace as he rolls to his side. hands planting, though-it's quick. Leg out moving to sweep hers before she can come in for the grapple. Hopefully something to place them on equal footing

Their backs.

"So I wouldn't find you in a Chantry?"

The motion used to send Luke to the mats leaves Rozlyn's stance too wide to fully evade his sweep. She almost manages to do so, even yet. The woman is light on her feet and quick; that flowing grace she has in her day-to-day dealings had to come from somewhere. Unfortunately, his leg manages to catch her foot and she's sent forward; a knee comes down and fingertips land lightly on the mat. She's not fully on the ground, no, but she is in a position that keeps her from making an attempt to grapple.

Only able to attempt to evade, Rozlyn shifts her weight and moves to hop back to her feet… and put some distance between them. Trying to use the time it may take him to rise up as well to regain her composure, as it were.

"No. I feel the gods were simply a construct borne of the loss of knowledge from the ships that brought our ancestors here."

"An interesting theory." Luke Quips from his place on the mat, this time he is getting up, and catching his breath. Eyes watch her and note her stance, his own hands coming back up as he circles the mat, clearly still trying to figure the best means to engage.

"I tend to believe in the Gods, but that should not surprise you. My House is ever known for our religious fidelity." And there he moves in quick succession. It's a movement in, before hopefully she can regain completely composer, which could be reckless on his own. It's a faint of a bow-before he is trying to lock in, and likely sweep her to the ground.

"But, tell me, why do you feel that?"

"It does not surprise me, no." Rozlyn is attempting to figure Luke's own intentions. Their styles are different enough that she has to look closer. To see the shift in muscles, or the balance of weight.

The feint is successful and reckless or not, it does what is intended. Rozlyn is taken to the ground in a sudden wash of breath, eyes closing for a brief second as she attempts to regain composure.

The initial answer to the Grantham's question is merely a grunt as hands press into the mat. He's close to having her pinned properly, but she won't give up without a fight. There's a final effort from Rozlyn as she tries to get one leg beneath her and her knee to his hip to flip him aside.

With her down, Luke does not seem to wait or banter much, he comes in to try and gather her up, hook an arm under a leg, so as to pull into the pin. But in his quick movements to toss her on her side so as to curl her up into that close press of bodies and ultimately the pin-that he does leave chance for her to easily shake him off, or at very least put up a good fight.

It isn't easy, but few things are. Rozlyn will not be able to get up or move away, but she does manage to avoid that pin. Perhaps it's the threat of the press of bodies or perhaps a need to win the wager. There's so much left unsaid; such a vague nature to the bet placed.

The Orelle twists at the midsection, pressing palms against the mat to one side while she leverages her legs to the other. It's not enough to gain her any upper hand, no, but it's just enough to keep him from claiming that final victory.

There's a sound of effort from Luke, as she is keeping herself from submitting. Could she see his face, beneath the determination, perhaps hidden in his natural eye is that glimmer recognition of approval. Still for his part, Luke is going to use his weight and height to his advantage in the press.

If Lucky, he will try and get her back, onto her back, before seeking to pin shoulders down, and press his weight on top of her. Only then once the signal of submission has been given, will he relent and ease off. Of course, in the tight grapple, who knows how it will change.

And there is the energy Rozlyn needs. The way she functions and words. Brute force against a flowing tide. The woman doesn't quite brace herself for the launch, no, but she shifts back and to the side.

Rozlyn is able to answer by sweeping in against Luke's side instead, finally finding her opportunity to attempt to get him pinned to the mat. It's no certain victory yet, no, but she's finally finding her own source of advantage. She's breathing heavily and a good deal lighter, but she attempts to get a knee onto his sternum- to prevent deep enough breaths to get the leverage that may be needed.

"Afraid? No," Rozlyn says between flares of nostrils as she breaths. "But I will not surrender easily."

Well, he did not expect to find this situation, at least as soon as it is. And there, his eyes are looking to her as the knee comes in on his sternum. His hips rise up, as one hand moves, one last ditch effort to throw her off of him, though his own breathe is labored from the exercise. His smile though is fierce, there as hopefully the nail is not in his coffin.

"I think there is part of you that is. Not the Rozlyn part-but perhaps the Lady Doctor. She who has her things together might be slightly afraid of what I would request." Luke says.

There's something in her eyes as he reveals that. Perhaps there was a fear and he just gave it voice. However, the faltering is enough and Rozlyn is unseated, as it were. The woman grunts as she's thrown off. It's a tumble aside and away; there's no quick and easy way for her to recover or to regain the brief upper-hand she had.

And perhaps most telling… Rozlyn has no answer for his observation.

Luke takes this time to catch his breath, as he rolls to his side, and moves into a crouched position. He doesn't push further-instead he remains where he is-poised there as hands move and lay flat on the mat.

"I would bet, the Rozlyn part of you would be excited if I won, and perhaps a small part of her wishes I would. But the part you put on-you armor. She is the one who is quietly freaking out, because you've put it on so much-that it's comfortable. It's who you are."

And now he moves, it's not as quick, but he does move-a fein in closer, testing defenses. "I understand that. Because I have my own armor. I have my own facade that I keep on, nestled and warmed by gin and bad behavior. And I keep it around to keep others from getting closer to me-even those that I wish would be closer to me."

It's good to catch breath. For as athletic as one may be, tussling on the floor can still take it out of them. Rozlyn gets her feet beneath her and rises. She doesn't end up her full height, no, but somewhere in-between. She at least is able to regain footing and find that light, springy place she seems to prefer.

His move in is evaded as she slides to the side, feet whispering against the smooth surface of the mats. "What if you are incorrect in your observations? What if it is all one and the same?" Rozlyn's dark eyes are sharp upon the Grantham. "And why tell me of your own armor and misgivings?"

It is that revelation that seems to unnerve the Orelle woman the most, causing her to move in with an attempt to grab, arms angling for Luke's torso. Not to wholly unseat, no; she fears he may be preparing for that.

As Rozlyn comes in, Luke maneuvers, eyes clearly catching the motion-though he doesn't seat to unlock her, not entirely, as he is perhaps expecting a flip. Instead he moves to allow her in at his torso, and his arms seek to lock her against him, but not unseat her. Not just yet. It's there in that uncomfortable closeness that he catches his breath once more-and if he is able to keep her from wriggling away- hopefully.

"If I am incorrect-then I am incorrect. If you are all one in the same-if you are everything I see, then you are very unique. Luke's own mismatched eyes lock in that moment. "Perhaps I tell you this, because I want you to know this."

Is it the closeness that drives her away or his admission? Rozlyn's dark eyes flare wide for a moment and with a new set to her jaw, she breaks away. It requires that same angle of hip as used previously and only allows her to move away a short distance. She's tiring, that much is clear.

"I would ask why…" The rest is left unsaid. Perhaps a fear to admit she wants to know. Rozlyn does sweep out with a leg then; trying to unseat him, yes, but also setting herself off-balance.

The laugh that comes is more due to exhaustion and that she got away. That much is clear as he recovers. A fist closes and there is a mock strike-one that is meant to distract, being prepared, but then his own eyes widen, briefly. Leg moves, and Luke blocks the kick, before he is bringing his own blow in, though likely off the mark as he was preparing for another move entirely.

"I want you to know." he says simply between a pant. "I want you to know me. Who I am, not who I clothe myself in, because-"

It's two-fold, what's affecting Rozlyn. Her discomfort at the candid, personal honesty being shared and the exhaustion beginning to set in. She's an athletic, fit woman… but she's no Knight. She does this for health reasons, not for battle.

She's quiet, breathing the only sound issuing forth for the moment as nostrils flare. Rozlyn, at least, is letting Luke speak. To explain himself. That focus does let her close in, finding her way within his range again. Closing the distance. But perhaps that open nature he's shown has undone her; a ploy in and of itself. She's weakening and it's showing, because her next attempt to take him down to the mats is purely sloppy.

Does she want to know Luke's explanation? Or would that just bring a downfall of things from the ether that she could possibly not want to know about? After all, why would he be honest with her, save that he has been, since their connection after he left jail. He is a knight, but his own fatigue has come due to his own exertions.

Her sloppy drive, allows for him to catch her, and use her momentum against her, take her to the mat-and now he goes to secure a hold on the ground, before he will press the pin.

"Because-I think you deserve to know. Because I cannot keep finding ways to catch you and not have you know who I am. Because-"

It's a war within Rozlyn. She wants to know to sate that curiousity within. That need for knowledge that is her primary driving force. The woman knows there is honesty from the knight, but it's a bold, bare-faced honesty that she isn't used to. Not in giving nor receiving.

There's a grunt as she's pinned and her eyes close as she tries to regain both breath and what semblence of an upper hand she once had. Rozlyn is quiet- perhaps to give him room to continue. Perhaps because she doesn't have the words. Perhaps both. He has her fairly well- not wholly, but her struggles to free herself from the pin just aren't what they once were.

Arms get free, but then Luke's hold is likely more tender than seeking victory in this moment. Conflicted in that he should pin her, and that she is still trying to get away. A grimace, and he is moving to catch her arms, before she can wiggle out. Shoulders up, but not pinned.

"Because, I am not good with my words, when I need to be.."

And now he seeks to end this struggle once and for all and just pin her.

"Because, you entice me, excite me and generally confuse me. And it pushes me to pursue you and to know you. Not just what you show me, but truly know you."

And there he goes to leverage weight in his sloppy hold.

"Because I want those same things coming from you-in a most genuine way."

His victory over her is two-fold. Certainly, the shift in his weight to get her pinned is successful. Rozlyn knows the struggle is soon for naught and lets up; shoulders pressed into the mat and even legs — before used to free herself — giving over to the exhaustion that takes them.

But it may be the mental victory even more that the Grantham has over the Orelle. Perhaps emotional, more than mental, because Rozlyn finds herself without a response. Instead, her eyes open as her breath begins to recover and she just stares at Luke. There's that continued shift in her eyes that shows thought. Processing. And behind that, perhaps, a bit of that uncertainty that he had hinted at before.

Breathing slows, as he keeps the pin, but then he is relaxing there, and letting up on her, but not diminishing the closeness. His own eyes watch her in returned study, before he is licking his lips. His voice is rough in the way exertion can naturally toil on it.

"I have won, and there are several things I can ask of you-that I desperately would take." Luke admits, there. "But, those things, I would not ask for having beaten you in a spar. Those are things that must be given."

And so he leans in close-before rising up to his knees. his hand offered to help her off her back. Luke's eyes still hold that bit of careful scrutiny, before he continues. 'And I promised you-within decorum. So My winning is this. I would like time with you. whether it is a dinner, or visiting you somewhere of your choosing. I simply want time with you-is that acceptable? If it is not. I can simply chalk this up to being a training exercise."

And like that the ball is in her court.

In his admission of what he -could- request, Rozlyn's eyes do show uncertainty. It's expressed further in a slight furrow of her brow. A sign that she was, yes, afraid for him to win. Afraid of what may be revealed in the end.

It's the 'must be given,' that changes the Orelle woman's expression. To one of curiosity. Not understanding, no, but a wonderment.

The aid is accepted and she brings her knees in as she sits up, draping one arm across them. The tape at wrists is tugged at slightly. Not fully removed, but fussed at and unwound slightly. A point of focus for Rozlyn as she regains her composure. "Dinner, then," she decides, leaning against her raised leg to start working at the wrappings on her feet. "I would be interested to see the sort of fare the Crow enjoys."

The look, makes Luke grin and he nods simply there. "I would tell you, but would that not soil the surprise? Besides I can only name three things that Must be given, and I am sure if you do get to truly know me, and I you-that they will in time be given." And there he remains close in his seat, but not touching. Instead he looks her wrist. "May I?" asked as he offers to remove her tap. "Dinner." repeated

There's a brief chuckle of laughter. "Normally I eat my fare in the mead hall on Ignis-but I believe for this particular dinner, a much better space must be provided, then where I sit and bullshit with my friends. Something more intimate, perhaps?"

"How can I provide things when I know not what they are?" Rozlyn's brow furrows once more and, before she gives it too much thought, she extends her arm towards him, palm up. Prior to their sparring, she'd likely have declined. But there's a strange level of intimacy now. It's not quite friendship, perhaps, and certainly — to her knowledge — nothing beyond, but she can allow him that much.

"Ah, but I suggested the sort of fare you enjoy. If what you enjoy is intimate…" The Orelle gives a small shrug. She's not quite sure where to go from there. "Or if your favorite meal comes from the mead hall, perhaps you ought to show me this… place you bullshit with friends."

"I believe they will come to you in time, and you will know them as you see them." Luke says softly, before he is reaching for her hand, gently. There fingers seek to undo the tape and unwrap her bindings carefully and quickly.

"If you're brave then yes-we can eat in the mead hall, and you might get to meet some of my family. Which I think would give you greater insight into who I am. It will also immerse you in the culture of our little moon." Luke lets his mismatched eyes glance up once more. "I do hope you like meat."

"I wonder if you are purposefully trying to confuse me," Rozlyn says, brown eyes falling to where their hands meet. Her fingers shift, curling slightly into her palm. The fist releases without being fully formed.

"You are attempting to get a rise out of me, Sir Luke. While I have no need to prove my bravery, you are the winner of our match and it is your request I must comply with. You wished to spend time with me and I am requesting dinner. Of your favorite fare or, I suppose, your favorite location." Is there a hint in there? Or perhaps just a restatement of the situation.

"My schedule, as you well know, is fairly open at the moment."

"I am not." Luke responds, before he is looking back to her, a motion for the other hand made once all the wrappings and tape are done away with. "And I am not trying to get a rise out of you. I was honest in what I said just then." Almost a little defensive, but the tone washes away easily. "Indeed it is, and so I plan to take advantage of it. We could dine, later if you like-once we've had time to clean up-or I can take you there on the morrow. Whichever is more convenient for you." Should he be given her other hand, once that is finished he would set to work on her ankles-unless she took that moment to skitter away.

"I would expect a Knight to know better than to imply he is questioning the bravery of his Paramount." A reminder, perhaps, of station? But is it for his sake, or her own? A grasp for a grounding, to return to the stability she felt prior to the start of their exercise. Rozlyn does offer her other hand, watching him work at the wrappings. There's a fascination in her gaze; one that speaks of having never been in this position before.

There is a duality. A woman fascinated by new experiences and things to know… but a woman also who fears a loss of control of the situations around her. Rozlyn is gathering the wrappings from her wrists when he begins to assist with her ankles and not expecting it. However, more telling perhaps than anything else… is that she doesn't respond with anything other than a mild widening of her eyes.

"My evening is clear."

"Then my many apologies, Rozlyn. I would not imply-perhaps just a tease, then. "He adds, before looking to her ankles. Each one is carefully removed, though on the last bit of wrapping on her left leg, he places his hand there, and does not move it. He looks up to widened eyes and he smilies. There is no knowing smirk, or teasing grin. Just a genuine smile.

"Then, I will look forward to our dinner." Luke concludes before he is clearing his throat. "I will suggest, wear something, as you would like to a park on Arboren, or perhaps something casual-for that is what you will find when you come to Ignis, and I would want you to be comfortable."

"A tease." Rozlyn's brow furrows as she processes this. Her eyes drop to where his hand rests and while she doesn't pull away or tell him off… there is a decided uncertainty in her mien. "I apologize, Sir Luke." While she's still using a title for him, she's given no sign of being bothered by the lack thereof from him. "I am… not used to teasing from any other than my siblings."

"I will wear something befitting a visit to Ignis." There is, perhaps, a brief pause as she considers. "And I will come prepared for the likelihood of viewing guestright." Which means she's fully aware that yes, she may be staying at least a night on the moon as a guest of the vassal.

"It shows that I like you." Luke adds, before he is nodding. "I-I understand. I assume it will take some time to get used to it from me, as well." He still has not moved his hand, and it remains there in those odd, yet comfortable intimacy.

"Good, When you're there, I'll be sure to show you around so you can see all the sights that we do have to offer. It is nothing like here, but unique and wonderful in it's own way." And now, he realizes his hand's placement-it seems by the way his eyes flit down. A soft squeeze is given before he is rising up, and offering a hand down as well. "I will make sure, everything ready for you, and that a room is prepared in Red House."

"You like me."

It's a statement made quietly, as if Rozlyn is more affirming it to herself. Trying the sound of it. It gives the indication, very clearly, that she's never heard those words given to her directly.

When his hand departs her ankle, the Orelle woman draws her leg in slightly as she draws a slow breath. She accepts the hand to get to her feet, moving into a languid stretch once there. "Thank you, Luke."
"Yes."

There is no beating around the bush, nor glib responses. A simple and softly spoken yes, is what she is given. If Luke has command over eloquence, it's not utilized now. Just a short:

"Very much, so."

Her hand held he nods, as his eyes lower for a moment, content in this quiet bit of space. "You're quite welcome, Rozlyn..I am looking forward to you seeing my home."

There's something… decidedly feminine in the noblewoman's mien. It's a definite shift in those walls she keeps up. A true sign that he was right- there is a Rozlyn beneath the Doctor. And as her fingers curl in against his hand, she is briefly revealed.

There's no movement beyond that from Rozlyn. She's in a rare moment… she has no knowledge of what to do next. "I… have been before, but it has been some time." Even she realizes how awkward it sounds, so ducking her chin, she adds: "It will be nice to see it as you do."

The slight curl is returned, as the knight keeps his gaze on the young noblewoman. It's that glimpse of what is underneath that causes his next movement. his free hand simply moves to lightly dust her chin with his fingers, so that she would look up.

"I believe it will be very nice for you to see something, as I do." And then as brashness does come in Luke's nature- his movement is deft-quick and not entirely calculated when it comes to risk versus reward. And he leans in to plant a kiss on her lips. It'd be soft, save for the scratch of his facial hair-and likely very unexpected.

And in the list of 'things no one has done for Rozlyn' there is now a new mark. When you read the age of majority and a handful of years past having never been kissed and managing to evade as such… There are a number of possible reactions. Had her emotional armor been fully in place, it might have been an ill response…

However, the Grantham found his way through. A chink in that armor torn asunder. Rozlyn's fingers curl into his where their hands meet and grasp at his. It's not like the hold to stand, but something… perhaps even tender. She doesn't pull away from the kiss, but neither does she lean into it. She lacks talent; enough to make it obvious that this is a territory she is entirely unfamiliar with. But there's a natural ability there, as well.

An ill response, is likely what he expected at first- a slap then then telling Sir Luke that it was now a 'Good Day' When both do not happen, Luke is both pleasantly surprised, but also pleasantly distracted with the kiss at hand. Something the knight is not relinquishing just yet.

A difference is noted in the hold, but truly his mind is focused in on her lips. Natural ability can awaken, but it is something that needs time and practice. Both of which Luke has. As she doesn't lean in, he takes the initiate and presses a bit more, turning that tender moment, just a shade rougher, but nothing that will leave her bruised. A press of his body closer as the hand at her chin, easily moves to catch the nape of her neck, and slink fingers up into her braid.

When the lock breaks, it's tender and lingering as he keeps his forehead close, and his eyes closed. Breath is taken before he does look to her. "I think I can safely say I am really looking forward to your visit."

The Orelle is shaking faintly when she's released. It's not something borne of anger, no. In fact, one could even call it a tremble. When Rozlyn's eyes open, finding those mis-matched eyes so near hers… there is something that is very akin to fear in their depths.

Her free hand, previously left hanging at her side with the discarded wrappings opens… letting them fall to the floor. She lifts that hand, fingers lightly finding the fabric at his shoulder. Rozlyn is uncertain what to do, but her palm finally comes to rest there.

"Please-" The plea is plaintive and falls off into silence. It's not a calculated pause. It's a moment where she's bared wide and truly doesn't know what to do next.

In that moment of vulnerability The Grantham does not mock, nor is he made of stone and ash. Already dead-rather he shows life and a sensitivity that would likely shock his brother and sister, as it would be something they had not seen in some time. There he lets go of her hand ever so carefully, and moves it to mold at the small of her back.

"Just hold onto me." he says softly, as he seeks to keep her close. "Just as we are."

And there he grins, as his eyes search hers in such close proximity, that it is truly hard to hide one way or the other. "Tell me, what you would like for dinner, so I can have it prepared-or so I can see if they do it. I am truly at a loss right now as to what we are serving tonight.." normal chatter, normal conversation-for as new as this all is. It is not something to fear.

This, at least, without the press of lips is something more familiar. Rozlyn can justify it as being akin to a dance. The hand on her back, her hand at his shoulder. She swallows, chin remaining tipped up at the angle he placed it at.

That uncertainty remains clear as day. A rarity, for the noblewoman, to be the student. It's shaken her confidence and when he tells her to hold? Well, her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt almost immediately. "I… I am fine with whatever they serve," she manages finally, looking somewhat relieved at the shift back to a more normal topic. "I said I wished to see Ignis as you do and that includes the meal served."

"It may be Steak, or it may be some fish that's been battered or a stew. Our meals tend to be quite hearty and greasy, likely to combat the mead-of which you will be drinking. We do serve other things, but it is a mead hall-and I do believe it will suit you to try it." And then Luke is leading her back over towards the bench, in case she has anything to grab up there. He of course, does.

"So I am going to suggest, we part ways- and clean up. And then I will greet you at my home and show you a good time. Before we part. We'll kiss goodbye." A look back to her.

"Have you had mead before?"

She does have a bag there, as well as her boots. No need to walk through the Orelle tower barefoot. Rozlyn is in somewhat a daze and pliable enough to be led to the bench, but also aware enough to detach herself from the Grantham knight once there, lowering herself to sit as she tugs the shoes on.

With the opportunity to look somewhere neutral — the floor — she's able to collect her wits. The armor does not fully return, no. That much is evident in the way that her posture only somewhat reasserts itself. And the way she glances up at him, fleetingly, at the mention that they'll kiss goodbye. An uncertainty.

Like something to hang over her head the rest of the day.

"I have, but not in some time. It was… quite sweet."

Luke chuckles just once before he is sitting floor side, this time he is keeping his back to the bench as he changes his shoes, and goes back to lacing up his boots. A meticulous thing, but it is something that he is focused in. Once that is done he is moving to his knees, as he rechecks his bag, before zipping it up-and he reaches for his jacket. Sliding it on as well.

"Go in moderation. It's terrible sweet and strong. I think you might tolerate it. It's rare that I have seen someone who is not family, fall in love with it."

A shrug, before he is looking back to Rozlyn, ever so carefully he reaches out again. "Shoot me a mail, when you are coming, so I can be there to meet you properly."

"I'm sure there will be whiskey should I need it," Rozlyn murmurs. Her voice barely rises above a whisper; perhaps it's her own attempt at a joke. A joke that isn't just a wry statement in an attempt to pry beyond someone's own armor.

After a moment, she deems everything situated and reaches for her own bag. Rozlyn's gaze finds the offered hand and after a slow exhale of breath in thought, she reaches out to accept it as she gets to her feet. "I will be certain to do so. Would not want to catch you unaware…"

Luke chuckles. "It's not so much being caught unaware that frightens me, as much as it is not being there to welcome you." A grin and he rises up carefully, keeping a hold of her hand, as he nods and starts for the door. Hopefully he doesn't have her drug behind him.

"Oh there is plenty of whisky on Ignis, I assure you. Between my brother, sister, and I, there are likely some good bottles stashed away. You know for when we decide to carouse." a wry tease back-apparently Luke didn't take offense one way or the other regarding the joke.

"I do have one question."

No, she is not drug behind. A bit hesitant at first, yes, but Rozlyn is nothing if not curious. This is a whole new experience and while it's one she's rejected and avoided for so long, now that she's been caught up in it…

"I do hope that any carousing you opt to get into tonight does not lead to a security holding area. It would not do for us to have to continue meeting upon your release."

She does seem a bit confused at the last and there's a shift of her hand in his as she falls in alongside, able to look sidelong at the knight. "And that is…?"

"well, any carousing, I might lead us into would most likely end up with me running laps the next morning during my training exercises, amongst other things. I think you would be safe. I would just be the agent of corruption." Luke says with a chuckle. He pauses at the door and turns to face her. Eyes in close study. "My question is this."

"What would you have chosen had you won?"

The question offered is an honest and understandable one. Rozlyn is quiet for a long moment as she considers her answer. Long enough that his mis-matched stare becomes a bit uncomfortable and her eyes drop, instead, to where their hands join. Her thumb brushes lightly against the back of his palm; a slow gesture, more experimental than anything else.

"Like as not, something… educational. Perhaps a sharing of your favorite novels, or your favorite places outside the Red House on Ignis itself." A dangerous venture, the latter, perhaps. Requiring of protective gear… and a venture she'd like as not never been allowed to do in younger years.

Eyes watch the movement of the thumb, and then he looks back to her. All of this is new other, and in some fashion new to him. Where as he understands and knows how to kiss, fuck-what have you. It's this part he is playing on the wing and hoping it works. He's never courted, nor has he cared to, until.

"We can still do that. I have a collection of fiction and non, as well as my books on philosophy. You'll see I love history-and I enjoy looking at maps, as odd as that may seem." he adds before he leans in to brush his lips at the corner of her mouth. "Well then, I know how to show you a good time it seems." a squeeze of his fingers to hers. "I will see you soon."

Her eyes close at that brush of lips. Something so small and to many… it would be little more than a passing note of departure. A greeting of a sorts. Rozlyn's hand tightens on his for a few beats before releasing and falling to join the other on the handle of her bag. Something to drive focus, as fingers curl and knuckles pale.

When her eyes open and rise, she's looking just to the side. As if briefly afraid to meet his eyes. "It is not odd," she offers finally, "I find a joy in my star maps. They can feel like… a guidance, even for places we may never go."

Tilting her head in a nod, Rozlyn finally dares meet his eyes again. "Soon, yes. And I would be interested in seeing the books on philosophy that you have."

And, perhaps fearing what more may come if she doesn't… she strikes off, her pace almost — but not quite — on the verge of what might be called flight.

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