[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Rosie made a small, indignant noise when Petyr laughed at her again, pulling the pins out of her hair to use the curled locks to hide away her face all the more. (A hooded cloak would be wonderful right about now for the unsettled little assassin.) He even went ahead to press a light kiss to her cheeks, her free hand resting atop his arm. Eyes greeted his for a moment, before she chuckled, turning away to press the side of her head against Petyr's shoulder -- face angled away from him. Petyr's mother must have held a soft heart for the turncoat to become so compassionate and understanding of her lack of social kills. Observe. When in doubt, emulate. Fortunately, that worked for infiltration missions whereupon she took up the role of a high-born noble figure, but that advice only went so far for actual interactions. "Oh! Of course, of course I should have known this," she mentally scolded herself for forgetting the rule. Nonetheless, he complimented her on her stubbornness, so that was something. Breathing in, Rosie repeated the correct phrase back to him, eyebrows raising in question. "These words and their dual meanings! Complicated indeed, much like... les livres in this library." though of course, the pronunciation was slightly off. Her face scrunched up at his grin, continuing with her mock offence. "Do you not agree?" her lip curled up at his wink.

It hurt to watch, the way in which Petyr drew into himself; arms wrapping around his body and eyes growing distant. Shutting away from the world, shutting away from her, in self preservation. That was his safeguard then, reigning in his emotions before they fell apart. Unexpectedly, as well as a surprise to the assassin herself, she uttered a growl from the back of her throat -- the assassin's version of gaining his attention. It was the wrong way to go about things in hindsight, but what could you expect from a person who was taught to show aggression in order to be heard? Still, her ears pricked at his words, nostrils flaring angrily due to her lack of understanding. (More so aimed at herself, rather than Petyr this time.) Through a process of elimination (and hopeful optimism), Rosie liked to think she had vague idea of what he was saying... well, she believed to be in the general ballpark area anyway. Do not force the question. I have no answer. That was what the assassin took from his words at least. It took Rosalee a while to piece together a sentence from his previous teachings and sayings. "Je ne suis pas. Je suis désolé tu... I am sorry you think this." Emotions blazed across her eyes like golden comets against a backdrop of ocean. It was both beautiful, and deadly. "Oh, Petyr. Your intentions are good, but see, if you lie that simply means I am more inclined to worry."

As usual, Rosalee tapped his nose; much more gently this time around. "Suits you, the hints of gold." she commented, laughing softly as Petyr's finger brushed alongside those two-toned orbs of hers. "Eyes of a Dagenhart," she spoke to herself rather than Petyr. Every Dagenhart had those golden flecks, passed down the generations as a physical heirloom. And even though she failed to recall her father's eye colour, whether brown, green or blue, Rosie drew comfort in knowing they held those same golden flecks, too. Rosie instantly brightened at his passing comment. "It is? I did not know. Are there... are there any other words we have, for lack of a better word, stolen from you?" Petyr's smile brought about her own grin. "But you can talk your way out of a situation, whereas I must fight my way out," she laughed. Well, punching someone in the face had an adverse reaction when compared to yelling an insult -- insults could be fancy, and why not add a dash of style when offending someone? That was Rosie's logic, anyway. Her smile was warm as she glanced back at him, picking her way to the top of the staircase while Petyr lightly touched her hand. A little something to let her know he was still there, still alive, still safe. She chuckled at the idea, passing through the door (well, over; the door here had fallen from it's hinges) and into another hallway, pointing at colour-stripped door not too far from where they had emerged from the library.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

And though her reaction was expected, it was still amusing to watch. He shook his head as she let berg air fall from the pins, the curls hiding a good portion of her face from view. ”I love you,” he told her softly-- a switch from him usually saying this phrase in his native tongue, instead putting iron the one Rosalee knew and understood best. His hand rested on the back of her head when she put it on his shoulder, though her face turned away from him. And even still, Petyr couldn't stop smiling, holding her close to him. He gently twisted a loose curl of her hair around his finger, other hand on the small of her back. When she spoke up on how she'd made a mistake, Petyr was quick to dismiss it with a smile. ”Non, je connais il est difficile apprendre une langue nouvelle. I had struggled with English, as I still do. You cannot possibly put yourself down for taking the initiative to learn,” he smiled, nodding to her. ”Multiple meanings, translation, and definitions alike. One day they will uncover themselves, those hidden in your books. Les livres,” he laughed. Though her pronunciation was slightly off, he still smiled as his emotions soared. He had repeated the words back to her so she could catch the proper pronunciation-- not enunciating either ‘s’ too heavily, and the ‘u’ and ‘r’ almost blending together to create a single sound. ”Gracious, do I have a choice to disagree?” Petyr questioned with a laugh.

His own mind offered Petyr a silent haven for him-- a place no-one could touch, a place where he could just be. But now, now he had been pushed into countless situations where he was forced to question and doubt himself, what he was taught and what he knew. So even now, his thoughts weren't entirely safe, no, them screaming at him to do with what he knew, not what he felt, not what was for her sake. But a more rational part whispered to him, gently reminding him that in love, you must sacrifice, and pay for those sacrifices. Lying had not been the wisest, but Petyr had never been the one to act on knowledge. (That was what made him unfit for the life of a scholar-- he felt too much.) And so that little boy whom had before been so driven, so full of volatile and reckless energy, grew frightened of the world around him as he learnt what hurt was. He no longer took risks, no longer jumped without looking. His head snapped upwards at her growl-- low in her throat, threatening. He looked to her with widened eyes, the action of hers causing him to close in and draw towards himself all the more; the display only drawing his attention to her for a few seconds before receding back. He refused to look back at her, though wincing when she spoke to him. ”Sorry,” he whispered, fingers digging into his skin. Trust was imperative in a relationship where love was involved. But, see, Petyr’s lie had torn down that carefully constructed trust; shattering it, even-- and it was not an easy task to repair and rebuild it. ”C’est parce que je t’aime… Je… I did not mean for this. I would never… without reason, you should know this…” he let his words die, Petyr’s eyes still not meeting hers.

At the anticipated tap to his nose, the knight only grinned, gently tapping his knuckle against hers in return. ”Thank you,” he hummed, glancing to his wrist briefly, a slight smile still playing on his features. He blinked, then, at her words, nodding slowly. ”They’re beautiful, much like the lady who owns them.” he complimented her, looking to those eyes with renewed interest; not that it had ever died, though. His own pair didn’t have a wonderful past behind them-- none of that ran in his family. His mother and brother alike had bright blue eyes, his father’s, dark just as Petyr’s were. Just as luck would have it. ”Mhm. I have never heard.. Anyone use words of French as they would English, so I would not know… But I will certainly let you know if I hear any, he promised her. Languages were an odd thing, how they blended together and often times borrowed from each other. ”Hardly so! I owe my life to a number of people who spared me! The best I can do is beg for my life, see. You, you can fight. I am afraid I am reluctant to do even that.” and, with those words of his, his left hand curled into a fist, right fingers brushing over his scarred knuckles. ”I am not one for unexplained anger. It all comes from somewhere, and it all has a reason.” he nodded. When they reached the top of the stairs, Petyr glanced to the door that had fallen, the turncoat pausing for a second. He looked back up to Rosie, sighing slowly as he stepped over it once she did, smiling at where she had pointed. "Your room?" he guessed.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Deftly pocketing the pins away in her jacket, the assassin made short work of sweeping the locks of auburn to further obscure her face. Rosie's heart caught in her throat at those words of his, those three simple words that meant more that the world, sky and stars to her. "I love you too." she murmured, her response muffled as it was eaten up by the fabric of Petyr's own jacket. Her free arm tentatively wrapped around his shoulders, her hand coming to rest on his neck. She was almost sure she could sense his unwavering smile. When he twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, Rosalee chuckled. "Auburn over black, no?" Petyr began to speak again, her leaning backwards in his embrace so she could still look at him, while retaining the close proximity. Tuning into his words more so than anything else had her feeling as though time had frozen. "How long did it take you to learn, Petyr?" she blinked at his compliment, her head dipping downwards slightly, eyes drawn to the ground. For her to be able to converse with Petyr in his own language? That notion warmed her heart to no end and she smiled to herself. "One day, I shall be able to understand this, the different connotations." she agreed, hopefulness resonating in her words. Naturally, Petyr's pronunciation was perfect, Rosie paid close attention to how certain letters appeared to blend. "...Les livres?" she spoke back, lips upturning into a grin. "No, you do not." she smiled.

Much like corners, Petyr found his safe haven to be his mind. A landscape of his own creation, a silent retreat to where he relax, surrounded by the memories that comforted him. It was untainted by the corrupting touch of another. All of his own. Only, that could lead to a downfall. Petyr's own mind could, and would, turn against him, those lying voices screaming, their sounds cutting through the calm memories he had surrounded himself with. The landscape of peace too soon turned into a dangerous plane, where the voices lay waste to the idle calm and massacred the beautiful memories. It was a terrain morphed into the unknown. And the fear of the unknown was an awful thing. Petyr's mind seemed to wage war with his emotional side, and Rosie watched with veiled interest. It was rare emotions got in the way of the assassin (with Petyr, they had become beneficial) so to see him in such conflict was strange to her. He had reacted to her outburst of sound, so Rosie took that onboard, even though he retreated further, perhaps she could gain his attention again. She didn't like how his words trailed off, how his thought didn't complete itself. Even while annoyed at the lie, she had her little voices telling her to forgive and forget -- he'd done it for her own sake, hadn't he? Gods, what did Petyr do in these situations of comfort? Last time he reached out... Rosalee straightened quickly. Rolling her shoulders, she reached out her hand towards Petyr, to become his new stronghold, and growled again twice to gain his attention.

It was quite funny to the assassin when Petyr knocked his own knuckles against hers. Her chuckle was feather light, eyes almost scrunching shut because of her wide grin. "Je t'en prie." Rosalee replied easily enough. As usual, she was quick to hide away from the compliment with a sheepish smile, twisting on her feet. He was quick to ensnare her attention again though, Rosie peering into those autumn-coloured eyes of his. They didn't need a rich history for Rosie to adore them as she did. "I will hold you to this, my little French turncoat." and as they both knew, Petyr's word was a vow. "Oh? And here I was, believing you charmed your way out with your fancy words." she laughed gently. On instinct, his hands moved from memory, and being the perceptive assassin she was, Rosalee caught the movement. Her head tilted, "What are you doing?" she murmured, fingers flexing and reaching out to brush past his wrist. Hearing his sigh, she pivoted on her heel, "Yet another opportunity for you, this time to pick out a door to the library." Rosie grinned up at Petyr when he took a guess, her head shaking, "It is a closet," she laughed, pressing her lips together, "it has access to the ventilation system," she knocked her shoulder against his, hinting to her sneaky childish ways. The assassin started moving again, this time taking care to guide Petyr by the arm as they ascended yet another staircase. "Bedrooms are located on the third floor, please be careful where you tread." of course, some rooms were inaccessible thanks to the roof's cave in, demolishing the loft and a good portion of the top floor. It was not structurally sound, the third floor.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

He didn't bother to work against her as she continued freeing her hair and moving it to further obscure her face, instead, he honoured her efforts to hide her face from him, brushing his fingers through her long hair. Petyr caught her response to his words just hardly-- it taking him a moment to figure out what had been said. When he had, though, it caused him to only hold her closer, emotions soaring. All was right and well with the world when time slowed just enough for them, held in its comfort even if for just a moment-- because, to Petyr, that moment lasted centuries that he wouldn't take back or trade in. Years of time he would cherish, all because Rosie was there with him. ”The auburn,” he murmured, a gentle smile forming, ”over the black. The auburn, it works well with your eyes. Accentuates the golds,” he told her. ”The black, it is not something I could find myself getting used to,” he joked. Though, no matter what colour her hair was, he would still adore and love her to no end. ”Besides. I have never seen the colour, in a person's hair. Blonde, brown, black, but never a tawny.” as her head tilted back so she could look to him once more, he smiled, brushing her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ears and shoulders. ”Twelve. Twelve years,” he answered in response to her question. He'd been fourteen years of age when he first picked up a book written entirely in English, and his curious it's drove him to seek out a tutor so that he could learn the language. ”And find myself still learning more each day. It is a lifelong thing, Rosalee, learning is.” six to grow used to grammar, spelling, syntax, and words. The last six years were used to further refine what he knew to make him fluent. ”But, do not be disheartened. I'm sure you'll catch on quicker than I did,” he smiled. Petyr then nodded at her words, agreeing. ”And so you will.” Her stubborn nature would insure this. Silently, he commended her for her attentiveness towards his words, the way he spoke. He confirmed her pronunciation of the word with a wide grin and a nod, gently squeezing her hand. ”Figured as much. No surprise there, ma chér,” he laughed.

With the sound of her second growl, like before, his attention was brought back to her. Only this time, her intentions had changed-- her hand held out to him. Petyr's expression immediately altered, though still entirely unreadable. He took her hand into his own, not helping the sad smile that formed at the touch. He simply stood there for the longest time, allowing their joined hands to close the distance that had formed between them. For his assassin-- so infamously heartless-- to show him her compassion, her love, and her forgiveness; it was something Petyr would not let pass by. And however shocking her efforts were, he still appreciated it no less. He then laced their fingers together, finally meeting her eyes. His own pair held nothing but raw emotion, several different ones conflicting in the dark colour of them. Though, each held the same story, the same thought: his words of appreciation, and with it, yet another apology.

”And you should know that I am always to follow through,” he responded, a grin forming. French turncoat. ”For I have never defaulted on my word once, my English assassin.” Petyr cast her playful look, laughter prominent in his tone. ”Words only work so far, I'm afraid,” he admitted with a shake of his head. Uncontrolled and unexplained violence was not one of Petyr's traits-- Quite the opposite, in fact (that was a major reason as to why the life of an assassin fascinated him so). Yet, especially since meeting Rosalee, he's had to engage in both in order to survive. When she questioned him in regards to the action he'd made, the knight simply shrugged, allowing his hands to drop back to his sides. ”Violence. Though not its advocate, I'm afraid I'm far too well acquainted with it.” another story for another time, he decided. ”Oh,” he commented, turning to cast another look behind him to where they'd just left, though more specifically, the doorway. ”I'm honoured,” he hummed, already mentally piecing the layout and look of the library he'd been gifted, adding now the look of its door for this hall (either a subdued gold or bronze would work well with his choice in furnishings). ”A closet,” Petyr repeated after she did, looking to her quizzically. However, her explanation of the ventilation system made the significance click, and Petyr found himself grinning once more. ”Of course, I should have guessed that.” The turncoat shook his head with laughter. At the next set of stairs and her words alike, Petyr seemed almost confused. ”Third... Third floor?” the shock in his voice was evident-- he knew the house was grand, but three floors? Two already armed for too much in his eyes! Though, he was happy at her hold she had on his arm when she took to guiding him up, and warning him about the stability of the next floor.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Time was often a friend for the turncoat and the assassin. It seemed to understand, holding the duo in it's embrace as it slowed itself down to allow the wonderful moments shared between them to last a lifetime. Rosalee would always store them in her memory, where they could remain forever safe and concealed from the world. Her little safe haven to immerse herself in, and she adored it to no end. Rosalee's eyes flickered downwards as he fiddled with her hair, one of her feet sweeping across the floor and the petals strewn about. She then looked back up at the turncoat, meeting his own swirling orbs of bronze, eyebrows raising as he spoke fondly of the auburn. "The black does not work for the good gentleman, then?" she snickered, smiling up at him nonetheless. "I do plan on keeping the auburn intact for my most trusted. But, I am surprised you have yet to see another with this colour hair." the assassin bit down on her teeth, recalling an event that had taken place long before she had met Petyr. "For a mission beforehand, I was required to impersonate a lady with blonde hair, and well, let me just say in the end... orange hair does not suit me at all." she laughed, shaking her head and looking towards him, eyes sparkling. To say her hair had been reminiscent of a fire was an understatement at best. "Have you ever needed to colour your hair while in the Guard?" Petyr was rather efficient at brushing her hair away with a simple flick of his hand. Points to him on that. Rosie couldn't help but feel the spike of dismay snake down her spine at his words. Twelve years. Twelve full years! Rosalee, while somewhat distressed, still had to praise him on the effort of such an arduous task. "I, for one, am thankful for your tenacity and perseverance in learning the language." the assassin pressed a light kiss to his cheek, hand running through his own dark hair. Breathing a sigh, she let her head fall again, jaw set with a strange new determination. Of course, she was far too stubborn not to accept this challenge. For Peytr -- she'd learn for her precious turncoat, "Je suis tenace, oui?" she replied to his compliment, searching his eyes for assurance of her words. Rosie was ecstatic when he confirmed her pronunciations, with her going on to repeat it a few more times with a new-found confidence. The assassin squeezed his hand back, mapping out the back of his hand with her fingers. "As it should be!"

The ever loving gods, what did normal people do in these situations? Rosie hadn't a clue. She'd gained his attention, and been granted with the touch of his hand. She noted down how his expression morphed into another type of unreadable one, and naturally, it still troubled her greatly. This wasn't like Petyr at all, this sullen, hollow shell of her turncoat. After a heartbeat passed between them, Rosalee dared a step towards him, softly tapping at his knuckles in a smooth, drum-like motion. It was for a while that she watched their joined hands in silence, squeezing his hand every now and again just to let him know she was still there, still with him until the end. Other than that, Rosalee did not know how else to comfort him. In the past, she had relied on instinct when it came down to him, observing and then emulating. When she had to think of what to do off of her own back, that's when the assassin became lost. Rosalee stared at Petyr, into those eyes of his that suddenly dropped their guard -- and what a firestorm of emotion that rested there! Pure, whole and absolutely heartbreaking. Rosie dropped his hand, and pulled him into an embrace, one hand at the back of his head in order to pull it down to her shoulder, incase he needed to hide away from the world, if but for a moment. Rosie would offer him that solace. Gently stroking his hair, she began murmuring, "Rue de l’Église... Rue Neuve... Rue de l’Étroit." to him.

"I am not denying it." Rosalee chuckled, eyes lighting up at their new turn of phrasing for each other. French turncoat, English assassin. Quite the duo, no? "I have high expectations, and you have not let me down in the slightest." Her grin was wide at Petyr's light-hearted tune, and she responded with her own sing-song voice. "Words have potential, do they not? And you seem to have the art of talk almost mastered, Sir Lécuyer. You have a certain way with words, able to pick them out from thin air in order to receive a desired response. I do hope that my volatility means you can never be quite sure around me, I must keep your interest somehow." Rosie winked as pure audacity fuelled her words. Unfortunately, Petyr didn't seem to want to elaborate on his story, and Rosie wasn't going to press him for an answer. He'd tell her in due time, she was sure. "Maybe one day I can hear of your adventures." Another time, another place. Violence, had always been the assassin's go-to. While she knew it was not Petyr's and it probably shouldn't have be hers... it was her solution. They had to differ on some things, didn't they? Otherwise, how would they converse, debate even? Rosalee didn't mind if they were to disagree with certain ideas, made it all the more fun in her mind. She breathed a long, strange sigh, dipping her head in respect to the man alongside her. She couldn't wait to see how he planned to re-create the library with it's many books. Soon, it would be their home to share. "Now you know my secrets." she responded with another laugh, joining in with his home. "It is the smallest floor, bedrooms and a powder room." The assassin's concentration was then stolen by picking out their way up the stairs, and then along the hallway riddled with flaws -- where some planks fell away into nothing but darkness beneath. Luckily, it was a short walk to her room, and Rosie reached out to touch the door handle, after flinching slightly at the feel of the breeze whipping up the ash on the floor. "Do not laugh," she gave a chuckle and pulled open the door, dropping her hand and letting Petyr explore the room first hand.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

And it was often times a kind thing, permitting the two whatever they needed in regards to itself. Years, days, hours, minutes, seconds. It was theirs, and it was untouchable. ”Oh… The woman, she is beautiful no matter what colour she wears,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, his head shaking slowly, ”but I find this shade far more appealing.” When she told him that she looked to keep the auburn, he smiled a bit more. ”Oh, merci. I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.” he was careful to note the slight clench of her jaw before she spoke to him, his expression immediately showing his interest in what she had to tell him. ”Blonde, oh! That must have been something, I would have enjoyed seeing that,” Petyr laughed. ”Orange is such a lovely colour, I am shocked that it didn’t fit you.” and so his surprise translated into his voice, evident in the words he spoke. Orange hair for his fire incarnate, for his heir, his Queen. Petyr himself would have certainly enjoyed the privilege of seeing such a thing, despite her words against it. His eyes then widened to her question, the knight immediately responding with a no. ”A guise was never needed. Besides, I am sure it would be a difficult task turning dark hair lighter.” Truth be told, he’d never even thought towards the idea, the possibility. But now with his involvement in the brotherhood, it might just become inevitable. Petyr could see the moment she was shot down with a brief flash of emotion that could only be associated with doubt, and that was the last thing he wanted. Yet, even despite that in her, she still found it in her to offer him praise. ”As am I, as it has offered me a chance to speak with you. Otherwise, I’m sure you would have deemed me as nothing greater than a fool and struck me down.” And he spoke the truth: If he hadn’t bothered learning her language, he wouldn’t have made it this far. The turncoat also picked up on the newer, harder and more refined look about her features. Determination. He knew that look all too well. ”Tu es tenace, et je l'aurai pas d'autre moyen. I will have it no other way.” He had translated the phrase she used so often for him, instead switching it onto her with a wide grin.

A noise that could only be associated with surprise sounded from Petyr when she suddenly pulled him towards her, but as always, he didn’t resist. Only this time, their roles had swapped-- It was her making an attempt to comfort him, offer him reassurance (and he’d admit this to her aloud if she asked, but she wasn’t too swell at doing that. But progress was progress, and it was always welcomed), and soothe his doubts and worries. And he could do nothing more but thank her for that, pressing a steady hand against her back. And Rosie’s words, her gentle reminder to him, street names, Petyr, caused the knight to still, staring at the wall adjacent from where they stood. When he brought Rosalee into his arms, each time she opted for turning her face away from him or pressing it to his shoulder. Only, Petyr didn’t do that, instead allowing his eyes to close as he appreciated this from her. It was evident to him that she hadn’t an idea as to what to do in the field of this, so he definitely would not take her efforts for granted. He then smiled, briefly, tracing his fingers over the skin on her back. (Which, thanks to her choice in dress, made that possible.) ”Merci.”

”Wise of you.” he nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. What a story it will be, the tale of the French turncoat and English assassin. Songs and stories alike shall be made. ”I know better than to do otherwise. I quite like my head atop my shoulders.” Petyr's head then tilted, his move of agreement. "Of course they do. Different words evoke different feelings, you know that. I simply play on that, nothing more." There was no real skill that went into speaking. But, Rosalee's movements, every single one of her kills she made, it looked like an elaborate dance number, one that no doubt took copious amounts of practise to perfect. "Oh, your volatility is what keeps me absolutely piqued, my dear Rosie. Gods know my curiosity can't stand the instability of your nature." The knight offered only silent appreciation towards her not pushing him for the tale-- Not here, he couldn't do that here. "Sooner, hopefully." He cast his glance then to her, a soft breath leaving him in a silent air of laughter. "They are a wonderful thing, these secrets of yours, I'll admit," he told her, words genuine. Learning more about her, her history, and who she was as a person with each step they took further into the home was something he had only dreamt of before. As they made their way through the torn hallways of the third floor, he was careful of his step, watching the floor rather than looking to her as he typically found himself doing. She stopped once reaching a door, Petyr shaking his head at her words. Never. Rosie then opened the door, Petyr blinking at the wash of light the room was put in. Her room was grand-- despite the obvious war wounds it held that were caused by the flames that had touched it sixteen years earlier.

[ I'm not sure what the room looks like so I'm just going to leave it off there and hope for the best, sorry ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

At his compliment, Rosalee shot him a sheepish smile, eyes flickering from his to fall at their feet. Petyr and his compliments were appreciated by his assassin, only, she didn't quite know how to accept them. (She, of course, would act confident when they were joking, but otherwise, the poor thing didn't have a clue.) "It may need to change for the odd mission or two, but apart from those cases, it will remain auburn for you. And mind you, the upkeep of coloured hair is quite the task!" she smiled warmly as possible at Petyr, paying close attention to the way his curiosity was sparked by her slight tells. "You are thinking of a lovely, fiery orange, aren't you? It was not so!" Rosie started to laugh, "It was awful, Petyr, simply awful." She had not been pleased with the turnout of the muddy-leaf colouration that her hair had held for the best part of six months. If it had been a prettier orange, she would not have minded in the slightest. Maybe she could dye it a vivid orange for a mission, simply for Petyr. When Petyr responded with a quick no, Rosalee held up a lock of her auburn hair against the side of his head. "Oh, Petyr. We could colour it auburn for a mission, I think I would like that." she nodded, admiring the sudden dash of red his hair had gained. Still, she liked to see her turncoat with those darkened, almost shadow-like curls of his. His hair was the night, and his tawny eyes the stars, she decided. "Hardly so! You appeared to be a legitimate brotherhood member at the time. I would have pinned you as incompetent, and allowed you to follow me until I 'accidentally' lost you in an alleyway. Done and dusted." she teased him, taking the comment in her stride. "I would have opted for stubborn for myself," she laughed, shaking her head and squeezing his wrist. It was a difficult thing, wrapping the air from her lungs around her tongue with the purpose of forming the same sounds that Petyr did as he spoke. She repeated the phrase several times, before she was happy and gave him a nod, compiling her own together with high hopes. "Tu es mon peu transfuge, et j'aime mon tenace peu transfuge les moyen il est?" she tagged on a questioning tone, as always.

The assassin continued to run her fingers through his hair, in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. She wouldn't have been shocked if Petyr realised how awful she was in this area of affection, the most she'd ever received from Christoph was a disdainful frown from a distance. And on those very rare occasions where she'd been horribly upset, she had been graced with a pat on the shoulder from her former mentor and heart-warming words of comfort, such as: "Stop with the tears, you are staining my carpet." So forgive her, for the ignorance. (Rosie was sure her parents had been far better at this art, but she couldn't replicate the same comfort for Petyr.) She held him close, feeling his steady heartbeat and breathing, tuning in with his movements. It took her a long while to register the hand of his tracing lines on her back, and when she did, Rosie inhaled sharply; posture stiffening. Periodically, her skin would flinch and shiver, but she wouldn't allow that to stop her from caring for Petyr in her own strange way. "I do not know what I am doing," she confessed, after hearing his thank you.

Scrunching up her face at Petyr's smirk, she crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. "Rather sure of yourself, Sir Lécuyer." she teased in a light manner. We will be spoken of for generations upon generations, it is a guarantee. May the story of the King and Queen of Nothing never die. Rosalee liked that idea -- ballads and tales depicting the duo's adventures and conquests alike. It brought a smile to her features. "Nonetheless, it is a skill you have done well to perfect." Many assassins alike had managed to sweet-talk their way out of dangerous situations, pull the unassuming wool over the eyes, naturally. Only, to Rosalee, they never quite spoke in the same way in which Petyr did. Piecing his words together one after another to invoke an abundance of doubt, fear, and pride all of his choosing. What she would give for that skill -- the ability to speak with a silver-tongue and allow people to hear what they wished to hear. Oh! The places they would go. "I am glad I can do this one thing for you, then, little turncoat." Rosie's grin morphed into that of a Cheshire's, sparking the fire in her heirloom eyes. "I look forward to hearing it." Rosie just chuckled at his next statement, shaking her head in dismissal. "I can only hope to uncover your own, in due time." she nodded her head, moving off on their way. With a brief flicker of worry, she scanned his features to gauge his imminent reaction. She exhaled slowly, crossing the threshold and making her way into the centre of the room. The once uplifting atmosphere within had died -- it's soul still waiting for the spark to restore it once again. As with the rest of the house, the decor was much the same: wallpaper fire-stricken and vanity scorched. Frames, in a large variety, hung above the damaged headboard of the bed, the pictures themselves long lost and decayed, the ghosts of faces barely visible beneath the wash of flame that had left them blackened. The impressive chandelier that once hung in the air lay in tatters on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that could only have originated from the skylight high above; little wisps of air invading the room from the one chink in its armour, and gently swirling around them. The only thing that appeared untouched, was the mattress and duvet; the only items the assassin had bothered to replace.

[ aha me neither, time to wing it ]

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

His eyes immediately widened at the French she spoke to him, the colour suddenly ablaze as emotion and pride alike took to him. The questioning tone she used was unnecessary-- she'd patched together what he'd taught her and what she'd heard from him, and created her own sentence with it once more. And in her doing this, she was speaking to him; not to the twelve years of English lessons, not to the stack of English books he'd taken to reading all those years ago. The words she spoke, quite literally, stole the breath from his lungs. Petyr was silent for the longest time, looking to Rosalee with a wide grin across his features. "C'est... Je n'ai rien à dire..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly. He then reached out to her, gently taking hold of her hands into his own, looking to her eyes. "Merci. Thank you. For doing this, it's..." It means so much to me.

Still holding her hands, Petyr allowed himself to pull away from her shoulder, casting a look to her as she told him that she hadn't the faintest idea as to what she was doing. But that was reasonable-- she was raised to destroy, not to amend. But that was all fine and well with Petyr; he could show her. Teach her. "Just as you observe on your missions, you must observe here. You look to a person, and you assess them. Not physically, but rather, emotionally. You know how to do that. The only piece you're missing is how you respond to that emotion of theirs. If it is positive... Say, happiness, then you will work to uphold that. Negative emotions, Rosie, anger, fear, sadness; You must destroy them or reassure them." The emotions, not the person, mind you. "When you are angry, you see how I work to try and calm you, pull you back, yes?" he rose an eyebrow, gently squeezing her hands. I know you can. It's just a matter of time and your willingness.

Petyr's head shook, almost as to disagree with her. "My secrets are yours, Rosie. I would be honoured to give them to you." The worry that had formed on her expression was paramount-- Petyr frowning slightly in reaction to it. Though, he didn't let the look in her eyes, however brief, trouble him. Instead, turned his attention to the room, stepping inside in silence. It was clear that the flames hadn't spared this room, tearing through it relentlessly instead. It was impossible to discern what pattern or colour the wallpaper held before; it now blackened, charred, and peeling off from what was left of the dry wall. In some areas, the studs could be seen where the fire had devastated holes into the walls. The only thing left untouched was the bed-- the quilt lying atop it a soft lilac colour, a clear contrast from what was left of the room. The knight wandered over to the bedside, glancing to the scorched table that stood beside it. "Oh, Rosie..." his thoughts were a mess, emotions welling and raging war in his mind. He thought to comfort her, show his empathy, only to remind himself: no pity. "This is your room," he began, eyes trailing upwards. Where the skylight had once been, there was only a gaping hole torn through the roof. The glass must have shattered during the fire, leaving the room mostly susceptible to the elements. "We will fix this, first," he promised her, reaching out to gently touch the top board of the bed.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Rosalee saw the exact moment that spark in his tawny eyes ignited, synapses firing as the emotions within them became a tangible thing. She knew exactly how he felt, those emotions spinning and colliding within his eyes forming into a language she could understand. While Petyr remained quiet for the longest time, his grin never faltered nor wavered; the assassin never taking her eyes off of his. Her eyebrows raised slightly, his words dropping off into complete silence. Rosie filled with the blank space with: "Seulement pour tu..." she quickly shook her head though, catching her mistake early on. Her eyes glanced at the ceiling to allow herself time to recall exactly how Petyr had once phrased it. "Seulement pour toi, Petyr. Tu es aussi mon roi de Rien jusqu'à la fin. Mais les dieux savent pourquoi, oui?" he had taken her hands into his, and she squeezed his palms, swinging their arms back and forth.

The frown of hers pushed her mouth to the side with it, eyebrows drawing down and eyes narrowing. Even her head tilted as she listened to his words with a strange intensity. Observing. A nod. Rosie could do that, it was simply enough. People would be surprised by how much you learn when you truly listen -- little hints about them, tiny details that could be missed by the casual observer. Emotion. Look for the emotional tells. Simple... simple. A twitch of the lips, a flicker of the eyes, everyone was readable to their own degree. Reaction. Now, that could use major help. Rosalee definitely lacked that factor. "...Destroy them?" she questioned, quieting down at his silent explanation. Of course -- the emotions, not the actual person. (Good thing Petyr clarified that now, otherwise she may have grown far too stab-happy.) It sounded simple in theory, but the execution was a completely different story. "How, how do you know that calming me is the best route to take? How will I know whether to reassure or destroy? Do I get angry with you or at you?" she swallowed thickly. "There are too many variables, I don't know..." People varied; personalities varied dammit. "How do I reassure someone? Comfort them?" seemed like the best place to start.

Only a small smile was offered to the turncoat. "I like to listen." she said quietly, shrugging slightly. Rosie was quick to walk the length of the room, and then circled it once. It was quite a large space for what it was, then again, the entire house was built on the pretence of luxury. "Do you know how fire works, Petyr? I didn't. It likes air," she perched on the edge of the mattress, pointing towards the windows as opposed to the skylight. "Break a window, and it surges towards it." Rosalee wasn't exactly sure why she told Petyr this, perhaps in the unlikely scenario he became trapped in a fire and thought to escape through a window. Breaking one would kill him. Oh, Rosie... Instantly, she looked to shoot daggers in his general direction, only to find him remembering her standing on pity. Instead, she opted for a nod. "This is my room, and I love it no matter how it appears." She followed his gaze to the skylight above, lips pressing themselves together as she tried to recall the last time she had watched the stars unfold. That wasn't a good memory. It was the night of the attack on Petyr's life, if she remembered correctly, a frown forming at the memory of the turncoat, her turncoat, bleeding out on the stone with her absolutely helpless to stop the poison from invading his system. The thought was pushed away with Petyr's words -- his promise to rebuilt it first. Her heart swelled. "Maybe we can start with our own pictures," she said, standing, absent-mindedly skimming her fingers over the decorative frames, ones with a relief printed onto them.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

Words fell from her once more, Petyr glancing to her with widened eyes. The same error a small child would make. But his silent words were not put against her, as his smile only widened at his thoughts towards it. Small steps were necessary to reach the end destination-- it created progress, and touched upon things that could have otherwise been forgotten. But Rosie was quick to correct herself, the knight's head bowing as she took his earlier words into stride. "Les dieux ne savent pas quoi faire avec nous." His smile was a sure thing now, unwavering as their arms swung in the space between them.

Petyr's eyes fell at her question, him shrugging slightly. "You... I'm not sure how I know. I just do." He was unable to give her a clear answer, because even he himself didn't have one. He then shook his head, forcing himself to inhale slowly as he shifted his weight at the onslaught of her queries. She finally settled on one, and that was the one he spoke to. "Comfort is an easy thing." he reached out, brushing a hand across her cheek. "You simply have to put yourself in one of two states: in their thoughts, or in their emotions. What would you do... If you were faced with what they are going through? How would you wish for others to respond to you? The most it ever takes are words. The least is touch..." even Petyr, the one whom was so well known for his words, was lost as he attempted to explain this to her. He had just... Expected for each person he came across to know this.

Do you know how fire works, Petyr? He did. A good friend with the element, really. His father had built them on many occasions in the plot of what they had of their house-- Christoph teaching Petyr how to create, control, and destroy the flames. And ever since, it had become a close friend of his. Candle light, a small flame that he'd hoped by; The fire they'd light in the hearth, another promise of heat and light during the frigid winter months. But he hadn't known of its destructive side, the side that tore through houses and shattered glass and left nothing but chaos in its wake. As she spoke on those qualities, Petyr lowered his gaze. "Oxygen," he murmured. "Feeds the flames." a window would only implode, sending shrapnel of glass towards whomever was unfortunate enough to be in its vicinity. "Then so shall I." If she were to care for the blackened odds and ends of the room, then he would too. "Mote it be." He smiled at the thought, glancing to her steadily. Portraits of the King and queen of nothing, resting in the lavish frames that now held nothing.