B l a d e d .

     ”Y-You… Do you truly believe that? I mean… it is so difficult… To think that someone would place me so high… Especially someone I am so fond of.” Once the words were out, she let her face tilt down, bright orbs falling to glue to her shoes as she tried to keep the overwhelming humiliation in.

His reply is swift and blunt, just as he tends to be-- and yet, his softening features tell an entirely different tale. Closing his eyes in respite, he outstretches his hands and grasps onto her frail wrists, holding them in a careful fashion-- as if even his touch would be capable of breaking her. 

A moment passes. Two. With his eyes still closed, he uses the grip he has on her wrists to bring her closer to him and press his lips-- swiftly, gently-- across hers. The flush across his face is nothing short of a fire hydrant red, the heat emanating off of him one similar to a fire-- and yet, he can't bring himself to look at her.

                    “Who said there was a problem? I’m not here to throw fruit at you, if that’s what you are worried about,” she quipped, resting her chin in one hand and spinning a lock of pink hair around the finger of her other.

                    Lon’qu was quite the mysterious man—she had to wonder where his fear of women came from, and how he became such an experienced swordsman. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, but she didn’t want the man to clam up and refuse to say anything. “I want to get to know you better,” she said simply.

"You know me well enough," he replies, and sets his utensils down on the wooden surface with a hollow clatter. "I stab things quickly. They die."

Not yet finished with his meal, yet reasonable content, he settles for staying solidly in his place and meeting her eyes, a disjointed flush rising onto his cheeks from the briefest of connection. Internally, he curses himself-- and the annoyed twitch of his brow reflects that.