He should have seen this coming. Her advancing, the touching, the sweet words. But no, this was Kevlar. He was more focused on Mae who was looking for them than the conversation at hand. Still, how could he refuse this? She was now holding his jaw gently by her fingertips. What man wouldn't want this?

Of course, the lovely pleasantries were all just for show. A chance to draw him in and make him weak. In seconds, her claws were out and she was throwing words at him.

Mae's timing was... well, not perfect. Marwo left and Kev never had a chance to explain himself or refute her words. He would have to seek her out later. For now? Heh, well, he had a worrisome Mae on his hands.

Not hold back, he leaned in and planted a soft, dry kiss square on her forehead. "Silly priestess, you've nothing to worry about. Marwolaeth is a brilliant woman. She knew what she was doing. I'm sure she position herself as such just toy with you." His eyes lacked that usual playfulness they had. "Besides, I wouldn't dare court someone while on a mission with you. My duty is solely to you and the task at hand." Then came the grin and laugh. "And to making sure I get you and Saith alone together." A wink followed. "But I do agree, when this all ends, we should find him. Even if it's to truly say goodbye. The idea," he bit his lip, "the idea of him not telling us to our faces...." He lost all color. Worry quivered his lips and a sad gleam crossed over his eyes. "It makes me fear that he's walking a very dangerous path. One where not saying goodbye will make," he paused. It was hard to say it. "Easier to die. Sometimes breaking all ties clears the mind and makes you rest easy when facing the greatest unknowns."

He had a crestfallen nature to him now. "Trust me. I know. I've been there, done that. And," his teal orbs turned to meet hers, "I wouldn't wish such a faint on anyone. Forcing isolation is no way to live."

Hand squeezing her shoulder, he smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a woman to kiss." He was messing with her on purpose now. She brought up the idea so he might as well throw it back in her face. He began snickering before placing a finger on her lips. "I'll behave. Fret not, priestess, she might be the monster on the outside. But inwardly?"

A very strange face washed over Kevlar. With how the shadows caught his face, he began to look like a totally different man. Eyes hollow and void of emotion, jaw flat and bored, and height easily becoming threatening, Kevlar stepped back into the light.

"There's much you've to learn about me, Lacrimae. And trust me, when you do find it out, I promise you will not see me as a noble knight but rather a man hellbent on redemption for timeless sins."

With that, he took his leave.

Originally, he wanted to hunt Marwo down but instead he decided it better to wash up. His face was hot and felt ugly. Such things happened when the darkness came back. The thought of blood, war, and torture--they were all at the forefront of his mind. If they absolutely needed to break Marwo, they could. Well, he could. But Kev swore he would never succumb to that life again. There was no way he was going to follow that man's footprints. There was no way he was going to be a cold-hearted, merciless assassin like his father wanted him to be. He just wouldn't be daddy's little thoughtless killer.

---

"I can't help but notice that you seem at peace looking across this view," his shoulders rested up against the pillars behind him. "Go ahead, tell me lies. I'll believe them." He grinned. "Just like I believed you this morning." He suppressed a laugh. "Since you hate talking about yourself and pinning things on me," he stepped closer so that his chest was closer to hers, "why don't you tell me what you're really hoping to do here?"

"Because telling me I'll be alone? That's not a threat. It's something I welcome. If I'm with others, I run the risk of slipping up and reverting to old ways."

Much like Marwo did to him, Kev stroked her cheek. Or at least he would try to. Should she pull away, he would instinctively grab her hair and jerk her into his grip. He would put his other hand on her neck and hold her taut. Now, if she let him rest his hand on her jawline, he would squeeze. Enough to hurt but not enough to break her mouth. Either way, he would resort in capturing her one way or another--neck, jaw, chest, hand, location didn't matter. He would catch her and toss her threats back at her.

"Be careful, Mawrolaeth," he would say while releasing her and stepping back. "I might not have your powers but you cannot break what's already broken. You can try to twist my mind, bend my blood, or break my bones, but you won't hurt me."

Flicking his cloak over his shoulder, he moved away and took a perch on another railing.

"I do have a question for you though." His stern gaze went to look her over. "Why haven't you run?" His arms opened and he gestured to all the space in the world. "You could flee and we wouldn't have the resources to pursue. So why stay? What are you hoping to accomplish? Or what are you running from?"

He rolled over so that his back was rested against the railing. "I'm here to atone for my sins. Saith was here to prove a drow could be more than just a thief or hunter, but rather a knight with noble purpose. Mae, priestess or not, is clearly on her journey toward being a woman worth wooing. You?" He smiled. "You, I haven't figured out. Why are you here? What is your role. Clearly destiny must have a reason for sending you to us."

Slipping across the floor, he was back by her side. Only, this time he came across as that tender knight all believed him to be. Gingerly, like a cat watching its prey, he moved the back of his hand to stroke wherever he previously held her prisoner. Sweetly, gently, lovingly, he smoothed the pain away.

Now knight, he wasn't in love with this woman. But, if she were to hint that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't refuse such affection, he might sweep her into his embrace. He would push back her hair, stroke her lacy-tattoo, and then bring their lips to meet. It would be fleeting but tender, just enough to give them both what they needed--a reason to truly be at each other's throats.

Of course, if the mood wasn't right and he didn't sense that connection, he would simply nod his head and utter off a single apology for being rough.

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