princekiller | (no subject)

Without a kingdom to return to, an army to command, or a plot to uncover, there was a great deal less to occupy Damen's time. He'd spent the majority of his life in training, either for battle or for ruling and, while being captured and sent to Vere had halted that as much as finding himself in this city, he'd still had some means of usefulness even in Vere.

Perhaps, in many ways, he'd been more useful there than ever before.

Here, however, was a different story entirely. In some ways, it was a relief. Peace was far preferable to war, after all.

But he could never quite shake the boredom.

Visiting the gym was essentially the highlight of his days. He'd mastered the machines after some time and had even joined a few... classes as they were called. It was the closest he'd found to continuing his training and Damen threw himself into the motions, pushed himself mentally and physically and left every day with that familiar thrum just under his skin.

Today was no different and Damen breathed in the brisk autumn air as he exited the building, hiking the bag holding his sweat-soiled clothing higher up on his shoulder as he made his way back to his dwelling. Nice as it was, perhaps Laurent would be amendable to an afternoon walk.

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"Well, that's not very nice," Dutch says, frowning at him, making a show of slumping her shoulders and stepping away. "Do you think you know me that well that you know this isn't me?"

Wouldn't Damen be surprised to find that he was right all along? Right now, Dutch's aim to make him feel bad, see if there's some sort of soft underbelly behind all the muscle mass.

"I haven't done anything terrible to you and here you are accusing me of being drunk," she says with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry I've been bothering you."

Her expression shifted then, as did her entire demeanor, lips curving into a frown as a cloud of hurt swept over her face. It was true Damen did not know Dutch as well as he knew some. But of the people he'd met in this strange city, Dutch he knew better than most.

And, in his memory, she'd never acted quite like this.

'I don't mean it as insult,' Damen said with some unease as he shifted his bags so he could lightly rest his hand on her arm. 'And you haven't been a bother. I'm not accustomed to you being quite so complimentary is all. Is it that you've only been holding back?'

"It's been a good day," Dutch says, shrugging. "I can't be happy to see a friend? It's not something I was able to really have back home. Job made it too difficult and everyone just left me anyway."

Dutch sighs, continuing to play the sympathy card since it seemed to be working somewhat. She shakes her head and glances up at him.

"It's all right, though. I'll leave you alone," she tells him, nodding. "Really, I don't mean to be bother. You go on about your way and I'll let you get on with it."

Her tone didn't change, eyes still downcast in a way Damen was sure he'd never seen in her before. He felt off balance then, unsure of what he had said and done to make her react in such a self-deprecating manner.

'As I said, you're not a bother,' he insisted, still watching her carefully though he moved no closer now. 'Whatever I've done, I'm sorry for it. But I hope we'll speak again soon.'

"We'll see."

Dutch turns and walks away, shoulders still slumped and making sure she emanates a feeling of sadness and upset. She's not expecting him to run after her and make things right but as long as he knows she's hurt, then it will make it easier to get at him later.

She doesn't look back either, walking until she turns a corner and lets a slow, malicious smile cross her face. Sometimes, people are just so easy. This one in particular, while suspicious, was like putty when it came to an emotional woman.

She'd have fun with this one.