[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxxi[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || thames river ]

It was the use of the pet name that she adored that captured her attention, her head shaking in a dejected manner. Rosalee's eyes narrowed at the ground, and a strange atmosphere distorted the air around her -- almost as if her emotions fled her conflicted person, or perhaps they fled the thing locked away inside, slowly burning, slowly festering. Weakness, weakness, weakness. You cannot be weak. "I don't... they, I can't--" she grew frustrated with herself far too easily, unable to correctly convey to him what she was feeling. She balled her hand into a fist, the limb shaking with power as she fought to restrain herself from lashing out. His hand was a gentle thing, vastly contrasting with the inner turmoil as it carefully brushed along the side of her face. Rosie inhaled deeply, glancing towards those tawny eyes of his when he spoke of her own. Eyes. That was it! You can see them, here, can't you? You can see them, but it is terribly difficult for me to put those emotions that you can see into words. "How do you know how to express them?" Half the battle was psychological, in her experience. Knock them into a state of utter despair, and their ability to fight efficiently vanished. It worked with certain personalities, but not all. Petyr's comforting hand was unexpected, and Rosie was quick to growl a warning as she jumped at his touch. Her skin was hot, far too hot as the hyperaesthesia that lurked just under the surface began to claw it's way free. "Don't, just don't." No pity, for goodness sake please? Last time, Petyr had chased it away with his persistence, but this time, she was reluctant to seek his reassurance. "You can't...? You can't believe that?" she finished his sentence in query. "I cannot believe this? Or I should not believe this?" Of course, there were things she could remember quite vividly, and other things she simply couldn't recall even if she tried. (And the gods knew how she had.) But the thing is, it was often the bad aspects of life with Christoph that she could remember in excruciating detail, and not the good aspects that took place -- and don't get her wrong, kindness had been shown sparingly, yet not enough to outweigh the bad. Rosalee didn't realise that Petyr saw himself to blame for the actions of his father, but if she did, she would have comforted him in her own unique way. If it saved Petyr the hurt that his father had inflicted, she'd do everything again a thousand times over if it meant keeping him safe from that legendary fury. Anything to protect his valiant heart, even if it cost her own in the process. "Petyr... you-- I, oh Petyr. Don't you see that you rebelled for me? Switched sides for me? Everything you did... you did this all for me and I-- you say I had doing in this? In this change of heart?" Orders were easy. Required little to no thinking on your part, you just did as you were told. No choices for you. No decisions. Just pure intent. A straightforward solution for you to carry out. But when it came down to you choosing: that is when you came undone. Petyr seemed to understand, if his expression was anything to go by.

The silence was beyond golden, it was untainted by time and it was theirs. Only theirs. Rosie's hand slipped from his hair and came to rest just above his heart, her quietly counting the spaces between the rapid rising and falling of his chest, as he inhaled and exhaled in a steady rhythm. Her fingers had began to carefully trace little circles over his heart, and it was about that time Rosalee realised that his breathing's pace had quicken itself in an effort to match her still-pounding heart. The notion that these involuntary reactions comprised of an innate sense of being; that these universal beats of understanding that passed in the space between them like a firing of a synapse worked solely to match the other's responses, had her face suddenly flushing a rosy hue. To hide this from him, she would either close or avert her heirloom eyes, an action that was second nature to her by now. But each and every time she would inadvertently glance away, she made a conscious effort to look back at him. Another step closer to displaying her emotions to him. Petyr laughed softly, and Rosie smiled, the free hand that was draped around his shoulders snuck up into his hair to replace the one that now rested on his chest. "So there is quite the competition for your affections, then? Oh, you must tell: how are my chances?" she whispered softly, gently tapping at the back of his head in response to the look that curved at the corners of his lips.

Naturally, Rosalee's sweet little glances didn't mean she was as innocent as she'd lead you to believe; Petyr had seen the rehearsed act enough to discern the real assassin behind the unassuming façade. "Fall for the beauty, stay for the danger." she snickered, shoulders rolling. Rosie wouldn't have minded in the slightest if he had clipped her for that action. "I must keep you guessing, hmm?" she muttered, making a point of keeping her eyes on him and not glancing away like she usually would have. It was her self-doubt that made her turn away, a need to hide her vulnerabilities from her turncoat. She was making an effort to look at him, for him, dammit. The longer she kept her eyes in place the more flustered she grew, unable to express that bundle of emotions held close to her heart. Where Petyr would remember the overall picture, for Rosie, it was the details that made the memories. If she couldn't recall certain colours, motions or smells then the memory would start to fray at the edges. She didn't want this happening with her precious turncoat, so that was why she paid attention to all the details of him, because it was those details, however insignificant they may seem, that completed the memories.

A grin was offered for his kind thanks. And you never shall. This was a completely new terrain for the assassin, this system of support, and while it may have been a new thing for her, it seemed to comfort Petyr to no end. And the confidence he gained blazed in his eyes, a spark to start a wondrous fire -- a fire that warmed Rosie's ichor-drenched heart. His skills on the ice were definitely gaining ground. "Not at all, you only required but a little push in the right direction, mon tenace peu transfuge." She noticed this, the way in which he flipped the compliment onto her; the same technique she'd used during the earlier argument. But it was a sweet thing, the way Petyr had flipped the compliment. Not harshly, he wasn't gunning for a reaction no, he was selfless, and instead turned it onto her to lift her own self-worth. That idea had her smiling all the more. Oh, how she loved him with every fibre of her small, stained heart. Now he had the technique down, Petyr's earlier efforts in learning this new method of forward motion rewarded him; his glide self-assured now he was reliant on his own technique. And he showed his heightened confidence by skating towards her again. Pride must've taken to him, she thought, when his hands fell from her grip, and while he may have wobbled, he didn't fall, and it pleased the assassin all the more. He'd taken the initiative to further cement what he had learnt and she loved him for it. So, when he glanced away, Rosalee took the ponytail of hers that he had thoughtfully tied, wound it into a bun, and pinned it at the back of her head -- away from her face like he mentioned earlier, preferring to see her without the auburn curls obscuring her face. Sure, she felt a little out of place now people could see her face, but it was a sacrifice she'd willingly (even happily), make for Petyr. Now Petyr stood on the bladed boots without the need for her help, Rosalee begun to skate around him, twirling and pirouetting as she went. Even whilst skating, her movements could even have been misconstrued as a combative strategy. Laughing, Rosie palmed two dual fighting knives, and started to pretend that she was locked in combat with another. From the distance they'd travelled, luckily, it probably seemed as though she were dancing with the air to the other patrons on the ice. As she pivoted and swirled around Petyr this time, she gently brushed the flat of the blades against his shoulders, before dashing off to continue her one-sided fight with the air, laughing warmly as she went. An axel jump was thrown in, knives out held to cut through the frigid air as her lithe figure sailed through the twirl, a knee of hers buckling slightly as she touched down on the ice. She inhaled sharply as she skittered across the surface, shaky, but still she continued on her path; daring to perform an easier salchow jump as she passed the turncoat again. It was exhilarating, and it was the murmur of her nickname that called her back to him, her chest heaving as she struggled to pull in the breath she needed, the sparks of adrenaline flooding her veins. After breathing an apology and hiding her knives, her eyes cast themselves towards the sight that had captivated Petyr -- a four-tiered family of two children and their delighted parents. Rosie's heart ached at the sweet sight; a simple, happy family enjoying a day out on the famous Thames. She didn't know what it was, perhaps the idea of what could have been or what could still be, and while the sight lit up Petyr's famously tawny eyes, it stabbed at her gut. Maybe he knew them, she decided, the thought easing the worry she refused to show him, blanketing it with nothing but serenity in her eyes. "I do not see why not. I will skate next to you." she agreed, holding out her hand by her side if he wished for it.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( thames river )xx( twenty six )

It seemed to him that every chance he had to disagree, she took it— her head shaking as to turn down his words. It was an exhausting thing to Petyr, having to constantly try and turn down her corrupted way of thinking (which wasn't her fault) so that she could see the reason in his. Rosalee's frustration was an understandable thing, the turncoat quick to reassure her by drawing her closer to him in a hug. Her hand closed into a fist, Petyr frowning slightly as he splayed her fingers back out, taking hold of her hand. She finally looked to him, words veiled in the blues and golds of her eyes. Words are of no use, sometimes, so do not bother to do something you do not wish to do. Because he knew she took actions over words any given day, after all. "I am... Not sure. It is simply something I can just do, an innate reaction to certain feelings, I suppose." He hadn't a clue as to how to best explain this to her. "When you are happy, you smile, you laugh. You cry or grow silent as you experience sadness. And, anger..." Petyr's experiences with anger were limited, but still considerable force when invoked in him; as his method of expressing the emotion was naught but volatile and dangerous. "You simply do what your heart tells you to do. Different people express these things in their own unique ways. As one man may stay silent when upset, another would take to tears and complaints." and he would leave his explanation there, having no better way to put this into words. The sudden growl that came from Rosie made the knight immediately pull away from her, and as it was unexpected, a brief sense of fear found itself a home in his mind. The last time this had happened, they'd been in Victor's godsforsaken study. But, then, though she had protested, he'd still been able to chase away whatever it was that plagued her like this. Now, now she forcibly pushed him away. This is not pity. It is empathy. "You cannot believe that. I am not here to tell you what you should or should not do, what you must or mustn't. I am only here to give you options, and pray you'll listen." Petyr's head dipped. Because though no longer a knight, the ability to give orders or requests was not with him. And it may never. His expression then grew troubled as she spoke, eyes falling from hers. "You do not need to avoid the word for the my sake." Rebelled. Switched sides. They were kinder connotations of what he had really done, committed. But he had done it for her, after all. Of course he knew what he'd done, his intentions were clear and made with a sound mind. "I had... Before I came here, ten years ago, my personality had been just as you see it now. The guard, the Lord Commander who handled our training, seemed adamant on destroying that. You have brought myself back to me, and I cannot thank you enough, Rosie."

Her cheeks took on a light pink tint; and though he hadn't an idea as to what brought it about, he still smiled in response to it. Petyr rested a hand over the one she'd placed over his chest, well aware of the effort she made to maintain eye contact with him. It was a moving thought— as he knew of Rosalee's more common reaction to looking away from him. But each time her eyes wandered, they snapped back to his in a matter of seconds. Her eyes were the gates into her very soul, so for her to offer him the key, it was powerful. He nodded to her question, grinning widely now. A soft, yet tuneless, hum preceded his next words at the taps her fingers made to the back of his head. His left hand took to resting on her waist, the right one still at the back of her neck, nails drawing softly against her skin. "A fierce one, I must say. Oh, it will be quite the challenge, ma chér. Are you so sure you're up to it..?" he teased her, though his softer tune of voice didn't much show that.

Petyr kept his gaze steady with hers, though didn't respond to her silent words, instead smiling in their place. "And without that push, I would not be here. Thank you." he had accepted her compliment on his own terms, still not quite rising to it as doubt was ever present in his mind. And doubt on what, even the turncoat was hesitant to reply as to what it was towards. But he still made an effort to take her words on, did he not? With her tar gongs and his tenacity, Petyr was making quick progress on the ice. Now standing alone, he watched the family in awe and silence, arms still out to offer himself balance. He hardly noticed the movement from her, as he was so caught in as the girl handed the bear to her father, who in turn took it and tapped it against the girl's nose. She laughed, and Petyr smiled a bit, hand at his side curling into a fist. He was pulled back to Rosalee, though, when he heard the sound of blades unsheathing— it causing his nerves to jump and his hand to fly to his belt, poised over the handle of his dagger. He didn't pull it out, though, when he realised it was only Rosalee, dancing across the ice with a knife in each hand. Petyr relaxed and let his hand fall away as he watched her make jumps, twirling carefully and with a practised precision across the frozen river. At one of her jumps, she faltered upon landing it, causing his heart to miss a beat, though evening itself as she recovered and made an easier one. The turncoat smiled to her as she stopped upon him calling her name, shaking his head at her apology. "That was beautiful," he complimented with a genuine kindness to his eyes. When she agreed to his request, his expression brightened, thanking her. It took him a moment as he hesitated, but when he silenced his doubts, he moved forward across the ice. He teetered a bit, but caught himself as he grew used to his movements, skating towards the side of the river where he'd seen the family.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxxi[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || thames river ]

A part of her was wary to disregard Christoph's teachings, the ones the assassin had built her rotted little world on. It wasn't that she was reluctant to accept Petyr's views, far from it, it was pushing aside what she knew to make way for his rationality that frightened her. Those albeit warped teachings were what made her. And without them, Rosalee wasn't sure who she would be. It was the fear of the unknown all over again. She'd been so content to wander around London, striking fear into hearts and relying on what she knew. But Petyr only wanted the best for her, so she didn't fight the embrace he drew her into, instead lightly holding onto him. Again, she may have huffed as he uncurled her palm, but she didn't resist, although it did cause her skin to prickle slightly. Damn feelings. Damn bloody feelings she wasn't supposed to have. They'd be the death of her, they would. "A subconscious thing?" it had been more of a rhetorical question at this point. Not just emotionally colour-blind, they'd clearly been shot to hell. Happiness, she smiled. True. And sadness, she'd stare in complete silence whilst rage burnt deep in her eyes. Check. And in anger, she lashed out. Petyr's anger... now that was a hurricane. Uncontrolled and violent. Those, she knew. Those were simple, but then again, she also lashed out when she didn't know how to express the other emotions. And that's exactly what Rosalee did to Petyr now. She falsely lashed out. Something indiscernible flashed in his eyes, and Rosalee was the cause of it. Her jaw clenched, and she started to claw at her arms in a vain attempt to make it go away. Of course, that didn't work. "I do not believe it. Not anymore, not since your arrival." she muttered in reply. It was his next set of words, coupled with his terribly troubled look that sparked her voice, that defiant, strong-willed voice into action. "If I am not just a weapon, then you are not just traitor." Rosie had chosen those turns of phrase because they were noble, shone what he had done in a diligent light because to her, what he had done was righteous. He chose to fight by her side, and that was far more honourable that the actions of a traitor. Rosie made to touch his chin, only to hesitate, and instead held out the flat of her palm. She paused. Her head tilted, and her eyes burst to life. Rosalee looked at him as though he'd just given her the key. "...You listen to your heart?" that was it, those simple words and she understood. Head over heart, Rosalee had been taught from the very beginning. So much so, that she had long forgotten that her heart even held a voice.

Rosie always adored Petyr's smiles, and they always gave her a sense of belonging. When he brought his hand to rest atop hers, she shifted her thumb upwards to run along the side of his in a gentle motion, looking to soothe the colour that now dusted her features. Often, her eyes would waver, slide off to the side, or gaze at another part of his face and yet each and every time, they would be carefully tugged back to his own pretty tawny-orbs. Rosalee took her time to note the colours, the various hues of autumn that languidly danced across the irises just like fallen little leaves that would spin in a light breeze. For a brief moment, her own mottled eyes closed to savour the moment, to commit this hum of his to her memory, the hum accompanied by the nails of his that pressed against the back of her neck. Her tappings then took to a rhythm: Double-tap, single tap. Double-tap, single tap. "What ever will I do?" Rosie's eyes opened and were met with that grin of his. "You know me by now, Sir Lécuyer," she alluded, "challenges are my domain." A Dagenhart's territory.

"Then I must mention a proud merci to my one and only turncoat." she replied quickly, noting the way he didn't fully accept the compliment without mentioning her doing in it. Oh, Petyr. Always with the slight sense of self doubt. It was becoming more noticeable to her, and she couldn't help but to feel she was partially the cause. (Once she had that sense of reassurance down, you can bet that she would carefully work to crush that voice of self-doubt that plagued her poor little knight.) Both parties, trying their best to alter their negative ways for the other. A sweet thought. It would take time, but as with all good things, the time spent would hold meaning. As Rosie rounded, she watched the intensity, the utter captivation in which he watched that small little family, the child's beaming face as she handed the prize to her father, who took the opportunity to tap the girl on the nose with it. A similar thing she did with Petyr. She was forced to glance away from the delightful scene, and continued with her fighting routines. Instead of pivoting on her heel, she pivoted on her toe, working up towards another jump. Rosalee moved with a liquid fluidity, all flourishing twirls and decadent revolutions. Near breathless by the time she'd returned to Petyr, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She had noted how his hand flew to his own belt, and pride glowed on her features. His skills with reactions were improving and his instincts were undisputedly on point. She grinned at him. Merci, Petyr. You are far too kind." she whispered, watching as his expression gained a new light to it upon her agreeance. Oh, she'd do anything just to see his features radiate delight in such a way. Petyr had taken to his own initiative, and had begun to move forwards in the way she'd taught him. "I'm here." she said in reassurance to those slight teeters and hesitations. Rosalee, while skating along side him, would drop back and shift to his left occasionally to keep a check of his balance; ready to intervene if he were to trip or hit some bad ice. Luckily for them, it was pretty smooth going and before long, they had reached the hive of activity on this side of the river. Instinctually, she stiffened in response to the gatherings of crowds, needing to observe them in order to blend in seamlessly like an assassin most often did. The conversion was a thing to see, the assassin slipping into a state to match those of the onlookers -- projecting an energy to match theirs. Still, she felt a little disheartened by it all, the families and their abject happiness, and took a step back. "I should retrieve our shoes." Her voice had taken on a sweet melody, and she squeezed his shoulder tenderly before choosing to skate back in the opposite direction.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( thames river )xx( twenty six )

Petyr understood her hesitations, her unwillingness. If he had been her, he would have find the same. Because for someone to come in and tell you that everything you know, everything you believed, was wrong, well. It had to be terrifying. And though her efforts seemed to fight against his persuasion, she certainly didn't try and pull away from him physically. Which he was thankful for. "Just about, yes." You responded how your mind, your heart, told you to respond. And that was the wonderful thing about emotions: they were yours. Nobody could change them. But Rosalee seemed to have an array of emotions that even he didn't understand, didn't have a name for. And so because she didn't any idea as to how to express them, Petyr couldn't react appropriately. As her nails pushed into and scratched at her own skin, Petyr frowned— And despite her earlier action of pushing him back, he reached out to her again. This time, though, he took hold of her arms, gently and without force at all so that she knew she wasn't trapped, looking to her eyes. "Regency Street, Hide Place, Vincent Square." he recalled how she had taken his hand into hers, asking him for the street he'd lived on as a child. "I haven't changed anything." The only thing he had created was turmoil in his arrival, which was hardly a kind thing. But his attention turned to her at the urgency to her voice, Petyr's expression entirely unreadable. You are the only one between us who has redeemed themselves. No longer a knight, and still had yet to become an assassin, Petyr had nothing but her. He watched her hand closely as it reached up in the space between them, curious as to her intent with it. Instead of an answer, though, he was gifted a sudden sense of realisation coming from his assassin. And her eyes— they were a wonderful thing as the intensity of the colours suddenly ramped up, stars of gold spinning against their backdrop of ocean blue. "Ecoute ton cœur." From day one he was taught to heed the voice of his heart, even if rationality was louder.

"How can I forget?" he asked her with a shake of his head. Petyr pressed another kiss to her lips, this one shorter than the last, yet still held the same amount of emotion as before. The taps she made to the back of his head was in a pattern he quickly committed to memory, watching as her eyes drifted shut. "What with you always alluding towards it and offering them up." Challenge was something Petyr was fond of himself, though not with the same fierceness she had towards them. He was competitive, true, but not so willing to throw himself into those challenges as Rosie did.

"Je t'en prie," he chuckled, noting her spoken thank you. As Rosie's hand rested on his shoulder, he smiled, head lowering some. "I anticipate the day that I learn those same movements, so that I may join you." and he spoke from his heart on that— having wanted to join her in dance since the beginning. And yet... That would have to be another time. I'm here. Her reassurance was moving, giving him the necessary confidence to keep moving with steady and well placed movements. It didn't take too long, Petyr only having to stop once before he fell during their trip over. But he hadn't fallen, and was still standing as they made for the bank of the river. It was difficult to not notice the immediate change Rosalee took on in response to the people around her, Petyr blinking but not saying anything. He cast a glance to her when she spoke, nodding. "Thank you. I will be here, when you return." he swept his arm out a bit, smiling. He watched her skate off for the longest time, thoughts awfully empty in her absence. But, he still had an idea that he looked to complete before her return. The knight stepped off the frozen river and went towards the set up he'd seen the family at, the vendor a bright man waving a small red flag to draw people in. As Petyr approached the small wooden stand, the man's smile brightened immediately.

"Five shilling to play, with prizes priced far more given for free if you win!" The vendor told him with a wave. Petyr couldn't help but to smile, pulling the amount from the pocket of his coat and passing it to the man, who in turn have him three blunt darts. "The object of the game is to shatter the three glass jars with the given darts. Do that, and I'll allow you to chose the prize you wish for." As he took the darts from the man, his mind was almost immediately transported back to his days of training in the guard— when the Lord commander had taken the knights into the back panel of the keep, handed them each two throwing knives, and set them in front of a row of targets. All right, Lécuyer. Look at your target, then at the tip of your blade. You were a fancy little scholar before you came to us, weren't you? Trajectory; there's a big word for your pretty mind. Take that into account before you throw. Assess the weight of the blade, the handle. Pull your arm back and don't you dare take your eyes off that target, boy. Petyr pulled in a steady breath as he eyed the first bottle, pulling his shoulders back and holding himself up more. You're a man of honour, Lécuyer. So you damn well better look like one. Poised and keen and fully aware. He held one dart in his right hand, the rest in his left as he readied himself, drawing the dart back. There's no science to throwing a ball, so why should there be one for a blade? Just throw it, Lécuyer. And so he did, the metal tip of the dart smashing into the glass bottle, shattering it upon impact. The knight winced at the sound, shards of glass spinning to the ground below the vendor's feet, resting there along with the rest of the broken bottles. One down. One dart.

"A wonderful hit, Mister. Well assessed. Do you believe you can land the next two?" A challenge.

"Sir, you must understand that I do not have a choice to miss." Petyr nodded to the vendor, who only grinned and set up the next bottle.

"I suppose I'm forced to take your word. The next one, then. " He passed one of the darts from his left hand to his right, looked down the piece of the dart, and at the bottle. He threw the small thing, and just as before, the glass fell apart in the same fate as the one before it. "Oh! Truly a gifted man. I am almost fearful to question your profession," the man chuckled. Petyr only gave him a grim smile as he took the last dart into hand.

"Perhaps the wisest choice you've made yet. Please, sir, the last bottle?" The vendor had an odd look to his eyes but did not ask questions, setting up the last target for Petyr. The turncoat thanked the man, and for the final time, tossed the dart towards the last bottle, again breaking it. "I do believe you owe me, now, sir."

"Of course, of course. I'll be but a moment, you stay right here." With those words the man wandered towards the back of the stall, drawing a bag off the high shelf. (Petyr noted that the man had to draw up a stool in order to reach the bag.) He returned and opened the bag, emptying its contents into the wooden table between them. "Take whichever one you'd like." Petyr sorted through the items— mostly small knitted things stuffed with filling, made to resemble different objects. However, more towards the bottom of the pile, there were a few plush animals, small and hardly noticeable under the larger items. "I'm assuming this is for a woman?" the vendor asked, causing Lécuyer's gaze to snap up at him, holding the man's eyes for a moment.

"This one," he told him, not answering him as he held up a small rabbit. It was mostly composed of fur, the face of the thing hardly visible under the spikes of white, brown, and black.

"It's yours, then, Mister..?"

"Snow. Thank you for this." his head dipped, and he left the vendor's stand, tucking the small thing into his coat pocket. Petyr looked off onto the ice, then along the bank in an attempt to find his assassin. Whilst waiting, he went back to the ice, looking to his feet as he skated across it, simply wishing to practise.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxxi[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || thames river ]

Rosalee didn't know how to respond to him adequately, so just squeezed her eyes shut in the hug, chin resting on his shoulder. She had put him through this with Victor, and then with Christoph and now to be on the receiving end of it? It was horrid to say the least. Wonderful. Now didn't she just feel awful for doing the exact same thing to him twice over? And yet he didn't complain. He took it on the chin. Her arms were hooked underneath his, hands stretching upwards to clasp his shoulders. "Désolé," she muttered, breath sweeping past his ear. Rosie pulled away from the hug, eyes still shut as she threw on a pensive look, working through the turmoil that lay siege to her once peaceful mind. It would have been easy to wish for things to return to the way they were before Petyr's arrival. So easy, to wish to return to Christoph's tutelage, his rough teachings and even harsher punishments. That god awful basement she hated so. And then of course the fight. That dreadful, sickening fight. Would he have pulled a gun if he hadn't seen Petyr? That didn't matter to her, what mattered was how his presence alone atop the roof worked in her favour: To give her hope. Simply, if the turncoat hadn't taken up a valiant position, Rosalee wouldn't have had anything to fight for. Nothing to lose. But Petyr gave her that, gave her that strength to fight and push through the odds. She had done it for him because she was well and truly, devoted to the man she loved. And her devotion was a vicious, vindictive little thing that wouldn't leave him for the world. It would hold him close until the end of days -- just as their promise to one another stood strong. Jusqu'à la fin. So, that was why Rosalee wouldn't have changed a thing given the chance. A noise of sheer distress escaped from the assassin, eyes bursting open to fire daggers at whatever had caused her such pain. The assassin made to tug on what had restrained her arms, and just as last time, the fight was a weak display. And even in his deliberately gentle grip, she couldn't break free. Not like Petyr's assassin at all. And then he spoke -- he spoke of the coping mechanism she had first taught him and she absolutely fell apart, head dropping, dazzling eyes closing. Regency Street, Hide Place, Vincent Square. Regency Street, Hide Place, Vincent Square. Rosie recited the mantra over and over; shifting her arms in his grip in order to carefully hold onto his own forearms. Whilst her body worked to curve in on itself, she stepped closer to Petyr to feel that sense of safety that he emitted. "You remembered." she murmured breathlessly, "You remembered." again, she disagreed. His expression, one that had been so open before, then locked her out. A shiver snaked down her spine at those features, distorted and pulled, devoid of his beautiful emotions that lit his face up in the most stunning way. Rosie decided to respond to his silent words with her voice. "It is your love that redeems me, Petyr. Without you, I would still be that mindless assassin, forever searching for that heart of mine that you now hold." He had chosen a path, and it was done to him to see it through. No one stated that she couldn't provide a helping hand and wander alongside the King of Nothing as he forged ahead now. She wasn't sure what her hand showed, but whatever it was, it was trying. From his coat of arms, she knew cœur to be heart now, the rest veiled in mist. Her eyes met his, her trying to repeat the phrase back to him like so many times before. "E... ecou-te ton cœ-ur. Ecoute ton cœur." she bowed her head and squeezed his wrists. "Cœur vaillant. T'es mon cœur vaillant, et je t'aime, Petyr."

A sharp intake of breath followed in the moment his lips met hers again, and whilst responding to it had become second nature, her heart always ran wild; her feelings for him increasing in an instant as her fingertips gently curled into the fabric of his jacket above his heart. It was shorter, but no less perfect than the last. She still had to fight for oxygen no less, mind abuzz with nothing but affection for the turncoat. Her heart, safe behind a ribcage, pounded loud and she was almost sure half the street could hear it. "What can I say?" Rosie breathed through short breaths, "I adore a challenge." Almost as much as she adored her turncoat.

A grin was given in response to his French, the language a wonder in itself. Rosalee watched his head lower, and she sighed contently. "With the way in which you have taken to the ice, I suspect that day will arrive sooner than expected." Those speckled blue eyes of hers darted to the side shortly afterwards, her too caught up on her stupidity in denying him a dance back at the party. Though she planned to make it up to him, once that music box of hers had been retrieved from that top-side hell. (That was partially why Rosie had kept with the dress -- wanting to wear Petyr's choosing of attire for the occasion, and not just another assassin garb.) The icy surface had been kind to them thus far, thankful that it had provided the turncoat a mercy. But when he did falter, the assassin practically flew to his aid when her heart lurched, swirling on the ice to face him and lightly touching his arms. In the end, Petyr reacted just fine on his own, pausing before continuing the trip. Rosalee had to thank him for not pressing the issue; for not questioning her intentions. She shot him a nod, before taking off in the other direction. The skates took her away from the bustling carnival-like event ever so fast, only slowing once they had become blurred figures halfway across the river. She cast an almost sorrowful look over her shoulder, and she swore she could have seen Petyr looking in her direction from this distance. Chalking it down as a figment of her wild imagination, she threw in a few twirls now that she was alone, wishing to perfect that jump she had always struggled with. Landing backwards was a challenge, and we all know how she felt about those.

After throwing everything she had at the jump several times over, Rosalee seemed to have found the technique. Pleased with the little accomplishment and another challenge met, her skates then took her across to where the duo's shoes lay. For a moment, she hesitated when reaching down to pick them up, casting a strange expression towards the fair that was taking place. Instead, the assassin sat herself down on the edge of the bank and watched the specks in the distance as they danced around one another. Without even thinking about it, her heirloom eyes scanned the bank side for her turncoat -- who she was disappointed she couldn't make out from this distance. Rosie brought her forearms to rest against her knees and thought about the family that had ensnared Petyr's attention. He must have had his own agenda to want to join the festivities, she just couldn't pin it down.

"You're lookin' lonesome over here." a woman, not much older than herself, spoke in passing. "Saw you skatin' over there. Pretty good goin', you a dancer or somethin'?" Oh great. A bloody conversation.
Rosie cast the lady a strong side-glance, aggression pouring off of her person. "Care to find out?"
Unfortunately, the woman wasn't deterred so easy. "Forgettin' someone?" she asked, pointing towards Petyr's boots that rested by her side. "Or waitin' for someone who won't show?" she took a seat a respectful distance from Rosalee. "I don't reckon these are yours,"
"Observant, I see." she muttered, refusing to look over at her.
"Observant enough to know you aren't no aristocrat." she winked.
Now that caught her attention, something tugging at the corners of her lips, "Am I not?" Rosalee quirked a brow, chin raising.
The nameless woman laughed at her. "You may dress the part, you have the moves down, but you aren't." she dismissed her with a wave. That action was familiar.
Rosalee shrugged, and turned back away.
"Not the talkative type, huh?"
The assassin's head lifted. "I prefer to be alone. I like the silence."
"We aren't so different after all, then."
A huff from Rosalee. Then just untainted silence for the longest time. Neither spoke, her only actions were extending her energy to access the lady sat at her side. Then, it clicked. "I do not doubt that. Do tell: What do you think me to be?" Rosalee replied, now interested in what she had to say.
The woman's grin was contagious, "A friend of mine,"
"I think I am starting to like you. But do drop the act, that voice does not suit you," Rosie chuckled, "I do know who you are, Miss."
The woman's response was given in the form of a coin tossed in her general direction. And of course, her hand snapped out quick as lightning to snatch the silver piece from the air. From her peripherals, she instantly noticed the Assassin's insignia.
"The Brotherhood sends their regards, Miss Jones." and with that, she was gone.

Laughing into the air, and with her mood improved, Rosie pocketed the coin and took a hold of the two pairs of shoes, beginning the journey to return to Petyr. She glided along the ice with a great speed, blades barely touching it. An odd part of her where her heart resided felt... lost, missing almost, thanks to being gone from the turncoat for so long. Strange, how much she had grown to rely on his presence alone now, and it was that same presence that stood out like a beacon to her. She drew to a stop a little ways from him, watching with delight as he had taken to practising his skating technique. Her features softened once she saw him, tense posture relaxing as relief flooded her veins. Rosie was home.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( thames river )xx( twenty six )

The murmured apology that was given to him in his native language made Petyr hesitate, shaking his head to her as she pulled away from him. "No. No, it is I who should be saying this." The knight noticed the look that had found home on her pulchritudinous face, his eyes closing just briefly. What was she thinking about? What thoughts were going through that terribly haunted mind of hers? He'd be telling a vicious lie if he said that her noise didn't tear a hole through is heart— distressed and desperate. His heartbeat nearly stopped, Petyr having to force himself to detach himself from her heart-shattering reaction. But even despite that sound of hurt, of protest, she didn't put up an awful lot of fight to get him off. His strong assassin didn't even resist. That was not what he wanted. And her head then dropped, Petyr exhaling slowly as he watched her eyes fall shut, now unable to look to her thoughts, momentarily shut out of her mind. Rosalee seemed to relax a bit, holding onto him as Petyr never once let go of her. "Of course I did," he replied in a whisper, pulling her only closer as she took the initiative to take a step towards him. "I have no choice to forget." Not that he wanted to, anyway. "Then I am honoured to give you that." And that was genuine, honest. He'd work in her favour, stand at her side and hold her hand as the two walked out of hell together. And that was their fate. "Ecoute ton cœur. Follow your heart." a pause, "tu es mon feu, imprudente et belle. Mon assassin imprudente, qui est beaucoup plus ce que le diable lui a dit qu'elle était. Je t'aime, Rosie."

Petyr wished more than anything for an entire day set aside to do just this, simply hold her and have her at his side so that he knew that he was awake and well and not dreaming. That she was real. But, as he'd chosen the life of an assassin, he could not have that pleasure. To remain stationary was to wish upon death. It was dangerous. So each small moment he had to keep her, to kiss her, to show her that he was here to love her, he took it into stride and held onto it. Begged for time to show mercy on them. "I did not realise that was my name," he grinned.

Petyr had mastered turning on his heel, angling his feet just right to turn his body and create circles across the ice. His first attempt in a turn resulted in a fall, Lécuyer hitting the ice with a sound of surprise. It had evoked a soft laughter from the group of women on the bank that had been watching him. The knight had only huffed and pushed himself back to his feet, too stubborn to let that failure stop him, to let the young women's laughter dishearten him. No. The blades of his skates moved across the ice, tearing into the surface of the frozen lake with each turn he made. And as his eyes were trained firmly to his feet, he hadn't noticed Rosie's approach until he nearly fell again, head snapping up to see her, and at the sudden burst of emotion his heart gave, Petyr was thrown off balance, falling again. "Rosie," he laughed, pushing himself to his feet and skating over to where she stood, taking her hands before pulling her into a hug. "Sorry, I..." he shrugged, a bright smile lighting up his once disheartened face. "Oh!" Petyr moved back slightly, one hand still resting on her arm as the other pulled the toy he'd earned from the vendor out of his pocket, turning it in his hand once before holding it up to show Rosie. "I... This is for you."

[ <3 ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxxi[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || thames river ]

A hand brushed through her hair before she grabbed a fistful of it, gently tugging at the strands. "You should not. I did this to you." she whispered, eyes still squeezed shut, eyelashes shaking. She was trying to listen to her heart, but couldn't hear everything. Where was that little voice? Was it even still still alive and well, after being neglected all these years? Rosalee didn't know what to do with these volatile emotions that held free reign over her person, distorting her once one-track mind. (In the end though, she would be a better person for learning out to accurately express these emotions she couldn't dare put a name to.) It felt as if she was under a barrage of fire from snipers she couldn't pinpoint. His skin attacked hers, with an onslaught of his razor-tipped fingers tearing into her arms. At least, that is what it felt like to Rosalee. It was unequivocal agony, even to fight it. She could try again, and with another tug, she knew she'd just emit another sharp shriek so in all honestly, fighting wasn't worth it. Especially since the she saw the utter heartbreak that broke his expression. Rosie hated putting him through his all because of this thing that seemed so set on hurting her. After squeezing his arms, her nails gently dug into his skin in order to ground herself as he brought her ever closer. "Regency Street... Hide Place... Vincent Square." Her gaze was locked onto his arms, the mantra in her mind increasing in speed. "Regency Street, Hide Place, Vincent Square." she murmured, "You... Petyr," and just like that, it begun to fade into a slight twinge tugging at her nerves. You have a choice, Petyr. You always have a choice. She lost herself in the French words of his, each one battling against the beast that plagued her, until the hellish creature had no choice but to turn tail and run. "Merci, merci. You fight even when I push you away. Merci, mon cœur vaillant." Something, a little voice from the general area of her heart told her to hug him, and so she pulled him into a strong embrace.

It was perfect, such a wondrous moment she couldn't have imagined herself even if she tried. Petyr made it so. Petyr was the one who made it just so perfect. He was the one that her heart beat for. Rosie would offer up her still-beating heart on a platter if he so wished for it. What she would give for time to hold them still and give them all the time they desired just to hold each other close for an eternity. It was moments like this that Rosie knew without a shadow doubt that he loved her with everything he had to give. The unspoken vow was in his eyes. Her cheeks grew warm at the close proximity as she begun to tap out that steady rhythm against the back of his neck. "How sweet! How sweet, that you believe I am speaking of you," she gently brushed his cheek, her voice set to a teasing tone. "Oh, that is cute."

A crowd of women had gathered on the bank, Rosie noticed when she approached, all of their faces set in laughter as they watched the turncoat -- her turncoat -- as a source of their own amusement. Her lip curled upwards in a fierce display, that fire alighting in the golds of her eyes. Half-tempted to launch a dagger in their direction, she made to dip her head downwards to pin them with a devilish glare. The look befitting a killer Queen about to begin a massacre. While a few did scuttle away, a handful remained, much to Rosalee's dismay. But that wasn't at the forefront of her mind; her Petyr was. Her dashing Petyr. Her heart lurched in her chest when their eyes met, the precious organ jumping as though it wanted to reach out to him. She could feel it -- that pure emotion that sparked between them like the firing of a synapse. But then her turncoat pitched, caught off balance and she dropped the shoes, pushing forwards before falling onto her knees and gliding to him, her lightly scarred hands gently cradling his face. A kind, albeit worried light flashed in her pretty eyes, inclining her head so she could kiss his forehead. "Are you hurt, my Petyr?" but he simply returned to his feet and pulled her into a warm hug, Rosie sighing contently and breathing his scent; that scent of light cinnamon that she associated with home. It was heart-rendering, that moment they shared in perfect understanding. He then pulled back, and her head tilted at his outburst, wondering what on earth caused him so much happiness. Petyr's hand reached into his jacket, and he pulled free a tiny little toy, a dappled bundle of fluff that he had won. Instantly, she sucked in a breath, eyes growing wide as the toy was held out. Rosie squeaked. Rosalee Dagenhart: The mighty assassin so famously heartless, the heir of ash and fire so famously resilient, actually squeaked. She trembled with emotion, hands flying upwards to cover her mouth. Such adoration for her most trusted flowed readily into her veins, her head light. Tears, tears of pure delight then welled in her eyes as her heart seized in her chest. "I... you, for me?" she stammered, the flecks of gold sparkling thanks to the tears that escaped from the ocean of blues. "Oh, Petyr! My Petyr," she sobbed, "I love it, Petyr. Oh, it is perfect, simply perfect I love him." Rosie tenderly took the little toy rabbit into her hands, gently and with such sweetness, she brushed the ticklish fur from it's little shining eyes so she could see them. She cradled it as if it were a child. "I shall name him Sir Bun-Bun," Oh! The little toy was absolutely splendid -- a white rabbit dappled with blacks and mottled with browns. Just like her eyes, she thought, pulling Petyr into such a caring embrace. "And he will be my knight's second in command."

[ my heart ]

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( thames river )xx( twenty six )

"Please," he begged with her, taking her wrists into his hands, hating having to see her like this and knowing he was the cause of it. "Do not do this, please listen to me, none of this has ever been you. You are the good that we have in this world, Rosie, and you are incapable of fault; no matter the actions that you've carried, the steps you've made. Do you understand this? Tell me you do, please, tell me you do..." Perhaps his mistake was that he believed his own words— he saw past the damage that the forged assassin had wrought, and looked to the girl hidden inside. The Rosalee that he had fallen in love with, the one that took his hand, that wrapped her arms around him and told him that she too loved him. The assassin, so infamously dangerous and utterly heartless, was Christoph's creation. A vessel for his hellish intent. But Rosie was not that, and Petyr was relentless in wishing to shatter that away in order to show the world her heart, her love, her kindness. The knight was pulled back down to earth with a sharp inhale of breath at her nails lightly pushed against the skin of his arm, Petyr's eyes looking to her face. But she wasn't looking at him, her eyes still downcast. "I'm here," he murmured to her as she continued to speak the names of the streets of her childhood. You have a choice, Petyr. No. He did not want that power, didn't she know this? But he didn't speak, shoved his words down and threw his gaze elsewhere for now. Because men like Petyr knew what choices did to people. It was her French that brought his eyes back to Rosalee's, smiling and lowering his head just slightly. "I am to fight for you." the hug she pulled him into was sudden, a genuine noise of surprise escaping him. Though, as always, he met it; arms wrapping around her to hold her close to him.

His hands rested atop hers when they rested upon his face, him nodding at her question. "No, no. I am fine. Much better now that you are here," he told her with a wide smile. The women that had been grouped at the edge of the bank were gone now, he couldn't help but to notice. Nevertheless, his mood seemed to brighten significantly upon her arrival— now more than ever now that she was in his arms. "Gracious, it's been hardly fifteen minutes, yet I still feel as though I haven't seen you in years," he breathed, his hands resting on either of her shoulders. He noted that Rosalee's hair no longer hung over them, or even down her back, instead pulled into a neat bundle at the back of her neck. He reached up and pulled free a strand of hair from the bun from the side of her head, the curl now resting just in front of her ear to frame her face, Petyr smiling. Her initial reaction to the toy was highly amusing to the turncoat, but to hear her squeak? His assassin had always been so careful to conceal her emotions, to hide them away. Especially in the public setting. But not only that, tears were steadily rolling down her cheeks. "For you," he reiterated as he brushed the tears away with the back of his hand, his smile lighting up as she named the small thing. Sir Bun-Bun. A knight's title, one that he himself held. He gave a soft laugh at the hug he was pulled into, resting a hand on her back, clutching her cloak. "I am glad that you like it. I was afraid that I'd chosen wrong, initially thinking you might have liked the fish they had better, but, I see that I have chosen correctly." Petyr shook his head slightly. "It was a difficult thing, the game was. Had I not been a knight, I don't think I'd have you nor the toy." his joke was light, Petyr simply happy that she'd liked the small thing so much.

[ they are too perfect ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxxi[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || thames river ]

Another unexpected movement from the turncoat, where he took a hold of her wrists and she growled out something about pity under her breath. Rosalee took care to listen to his words and her eyes came to settle on his. "I understand that this is how you see me." You see thing was, she understood that was what Petyr saw, but what Rosalee saw wasn't the same story. "I do not see what you see in me, the same way in which you do not see what I see in you." That was the thing. They were both fighting to show the other what they saw in them, and they had become so caught up in their own personal battles to do so, that they didn't acknowledge the others' teachings. It was a just a cycle that kept repeating over and over, all because neither took a step back long enough to see what was really happening. They were completely dedicated to lifting the other, that they forgot to lift themselves. Petyr's sharp inhalation caused her head to snap up to to his, the grip on his arms loosening just slightly. "You are," she whispered in reply to his little reassurance, letting a flicker of a smile grace her features, "and you are far too tenacious to leave." she squeezed his arms again, this time in a thank you, but his gaze had been thrown off to the side. She wasn't sure what to make of that sudden shiver of doubt that seemed to take to his person, but did take the opportunity to pull free from his grip, skin still tingling as they settled by her side. Rosalee wanted Petyr to have a choice; to do what he wanted because it was what he wished; and not just because she had asked him to do so. Free-will. That was what she wanted to give Petyr: Free-will to decide for himself what he wanted. Even if that power was something he could fight against by tethering himself to someone, something. It was human nature to be given the gift of choice, and Rosie wasn't looking to steal that away from him. "Ecoute ton cœur, Sir Petyr Lecuyer. Il est vaillant." she let her eyes fall shut in the hug, opting not to hide her face away like so many other times before.

A thumb brushed across his cheek. "I must say, I didn't expect to see you falling head over heels at my arrival," she placed another light kiss to his face, this time to his brow. "It is a shame I wasn't quick enough to catch you." nonetheless, she did check him over, scanning his posture and the way he stood. All seemed fine, maybe his pride was a little worse or wear, but other than that, all seemed well. Rosie couldn't help but to nod fervently in agreeance with his words -- her heart had practically leapt from her chest upon seeing him. Never had she felt such strong ties to a person; it was as though their hearts had been tethered together by invisible bindings. A minute away from you seems to mean a lifetime to my heart. Her grin was wide as he rested his hands on her shoulders, and it was a surprise when he unwound a single strand of her hair. The little squeak that she made was completely involuntary, a small indiscretion, and it was one that brought a vivid blush to her cheeks. The assassin wrestled fiercely to control her emotions in that one heartbeat of a moment. "He is perfect. You are perfect," never had her features brightened up in unparalleled happiness before she had met him. And it was all down to Petyr and his heartfelt gift. Her gaze was something else entirely as she stroked the toy's fur with such fondness. "I love my little rabbit, he's so pretty, what made you choose this little one?" she grinned in his arms, holding the turncoat and the toy close. "While the Petyr and Rosie fish biscuits were delightful, I much prefer Sir Bun-Bun." at Petyr's quip, she couldn't help but to laugh, free hand falling to his wrist. "I am sorry to hear what an ordeal you have been put through today, Petyr! Though, might I say I wouldn't trade you nor your past for the world. She wasn't sure whether he understood the sheer extent of significance that the little toy rabbit had; her first true gift given from a source not wanting to exploit her, not wanting to manipulate her nor doing so in order to be repaid a debt later on down the line. Petyr had won the toy for his reckless assassin out of the kindness of his heart. And she loved him for it. Truly, it was wonderful: To think! He cared enough to win her that toy in the first place! Most, if not all, of her childhood toys had been destroyed by fire and Christoph alike; her mentor adamant to cut all ties to her past to better shape a weapon. It was easier to mould someone when they had absolutely nothing left. Even her music box had been kept secret for the longest time before he had discovered it, and Rosalee had promised to slit his throat in the night if he destroyed the thing. And he didn't, so that was a welcomed surprise. (He probably knew she'd have spiralled off the rails if he had done so, or perhaps he had let the thing live in case he ever needed to hold something over her. It had been most likely the latter scenario.) "We should go, before people begin to realise that I have been brought to my knees by such a precious gift,"

[ far too precious <3 ]

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( thames river )xx( twenty six )

Again with the warnings against pity. But to Petyr, it had never been that. It was always empathy with her— he knew better than to pity her. The turncoat shook his head when she told him that she understood. Part of understanding was taking the words into stride and living by them. "This is not the same," he muttered as she moved to compare this to his earlier actions of refusal. And it wasn't the same, really— Rosalee was so much more than he was, she had so much more than he'd ever. A person of importance. Why else had Victor wanted her and her parents dead? Because they held a title. Status. Yet, she'd been forced to watch her world fall to ash around her. But that gave her fire, gave her drive, something to push towards and fight for. Because after all, that world of priceless perfection had the chance to be rebuilt. And Petyr would stop at nothing to give that back to her, to help her find her answers. But unlike her, he'd always had nothing. That was what made them different. He absolutely hated this seemingly constant state of disagreement they were in— But then again, if the always agreed, then what would they independently stand for? Lines would never be drawn, met, or crossed. "Tenacious," he repeated after her, his slight accent still causing the word to sound strange coming from him. "I pray that you remember that no matter what is to happen," he told her, a slight smile replacing his once worried expression. Never forget that, please. You may forget everything else, but not that. Valiancy. Wasn't that what he was now bound to? That is what his coat of arms— his family name— called for. To a valiant heart, nothing is impossible. Now the pretty thing that held the motto sat beside Rosalee's own, and Petyr couldn't have possibly prayed for better. The small action of her allowing his family's coat of arms into her home was of unmatched significance; it helped the knight believe he'd found a purpose in this world. Without Rosalee, he'd still be serving a corrupt justice, moving day to day whilst wondering if there was more to his otherwise meaningless life. Now he didn't have to ask that, because everything was found in his assassin. "Tiens, aussi. Mais, merci. Le dieux savent que j'essaie."

He grinned as her thumb brushed across his cheek, looking to her eyes when she spoke. "I can't say I anticipated that, either," he chuckled. "Whatever did happen to catching each other?" Petyr teased her, resurfacing an old conversation they'd had where she'd made him promise to catch her as she fell for him. The knight's eyes fell shut at the kiss she placed to his forehead, heart swelling at the action. He wasn't too sure as to what caused his fall— Perhaps the sharpness of the turn he took, or maybe even the shock of seeing Rosie again. Whatever it was, he hadn't suffered any wounds, so he knew all was well. (Still, she checked over him despite his verbal reassurance that he was all right.) Now, perfect was not the word Petyr would have chosen to describe himself. Far from it, really. Rosie was perfect. His mother, perfect. Hell, even his brother to some higher degree was perfect. So Petyr only gave his agreement to that first part. "It is a cute thing, is not not?" He reached out and brushed a finger over the small rabbit's fur, shrugging. "I'm not sure. I wasn't even positive you'd like it, but I chose it anyway. Intuition, I suppose," he laughed. Nevertheless, he'd chosen it, and she loved it— and that was exactly what he'd wanted. Because if she was happy, then so was he. "Nor I you. I'll take you as you are— and what you may see as imperfections, allow me to tell you that they only provide more things for me to fall in love with." her kind words towards him were carefully put away in his heart, and though they didn't go towards his self-esteem as they should have, they were still put in his memory. It was words like those that strengthened his love towards her all the more. And though he'd never understand the full extent of the hell her past had been, from what he knew, from what she'd told him, that certainly had been enough. But her past had offered him the chance to love her, to know her like he'd never had with anyone ever before. Surely if Victor hadn't set fire to her home, she'd have made a fine young woman— Lady Rosalee Dagenhart. And gods know that a lady's standards were far too high to allow for her to fall in love with a knight. Petyr would have been lucky to do much as even earn a glance from her. And had their eyes met in that life, would she realise that she loved him? Would she stop walking, cast a look to her father, and approach him? Good evening, ser. Pardon me, but I couldn't help but to notice you from afar... Might I earn your name? Oh, how different their lives would have been! "It happens to the best of us. But if that is what you wish, then who am I to disagree?" he smiled at her request to leave, falling away from her to pick up their shoes, which she must have dropped in her attempt to help Petyr after his fall. As he straightened, the turncoat skated back to where she stood, gently touching her arm before motioning back to the edge of the river from which they'd started. "I suppose we could skate back there to put our shoes back on and return the skates. And where, then, would you like to go? Back to... Christoph's house to retrieve your music box? If that's what you're still wanting to do, that is." Of course, though, it wasn't up to him.