pike | nigel's mobile;

[ It's been a few hours since Nigel took that fateful step down to the basement and into the City. He'd spent the first of those hours idly pouring over Saya's tools, noting the obsessive precision in which they were stored, categorized and handled. His attention to detail meant it was easy for Nigel to be occupied by the simplest things for hours on end. But he wasn't particularly fond of machines and gadgetry and he so quickly tired of the exercise, turning to his network device instead. It was during that time that he'd found Rosella, or rather Rosella had found him. Upon realizing who she was (and more importantly what she was), Nigel had felt a familiar feeling begin to trickle down his back all along his spine. Destiny had lead him to Jack, had it lead him here as well? It's a question he considers in both the front and the back of his mind as he sits on the floor of the garage, back pressed against one wall, tediously pour through old posts for any sign of Jack.

At the sound of the door opening, however, he lifts his head and looks over. His first glance of Rosella is obscured by some of his hair falling down into his eyes. Quickly, though, he straightens, pushing himself up to standing in case it happens to be her. ]

Hello?

[Really, Rosella isn't exactly sure what she was picturing the new arrival to look like when she was speaking with him. Handsome, certainly, since he seemed rather charming (if a bit odd), and charming people generally turned out to be handsome ones, too, just like nice people generally turned out to be beautiful. And then of course there was the accent, which only reinforced the thought that he'd a kind-faced, good-looking young man with a lovely smile, as thoughts of other friends with the same accent mingled together in her head. He'd be rather the quiet sort, to be sure, and perhaps the sort that always looks a bit out of place in a room (since he sounded a bit shy on the Network), but generally friendly once one managed to persuade him to open up a little.

What she wasn't expecting, however, is what she inevitably gets: a tousle of dark hair and a wickedly familiar face, one that she's spent the past few days convincing herself was nothing more than a nightmare, nothing more than a horrible, horrible fantasy.

She can't stop herself before the yelp escapes her lips, strangled and heavy with fear, and the bundle of clothes she is carrying falls forgotten to the ground as she ducks back out the door. She is shaking and cold all over, and it isn't from the chill in the air; unbidden, her hand comes up to clasp over her mouth, pressed tight to keep any further noises from escaping.

It can't be. It can't be. But it is.]

[ There is no denying that Nigel is handsome, though he would never describe himself as such. Well-defined features, a strong jaw and eyes that are capable of staring in the most predatory way from beneath an equally strong brow. It's the predatory part that no doubt rings the strongest bell -- the way he glares the way an animal would glare, the way his lip can curl when pushed towards contempt. There's very little of that in Nigel's demeanor at the moment, however, as he carefully tucks his communication device away and stares after the now-shut door and the toppled bounty beyond it.

When he approaches, he takes his time, not rushed or hurried the way any normal person would be. Other people would look to provide aid, some sort of assistance, but Nigel is simply there to satisfy his own curiosities. Eventually, he hand finds the brace of the glass door and he pushes upon it with one hand, making it swing open wide so that a blustery rush of cold air swirls past him into the garage.

He has very pale skin (never one for the outdoors), but the chill December air immediately causes it to flush. Pink in cheek and red in lip, he stares out at the stranger standing there in the street. He's not a dog, not a psychopomp -- but a portent of death? That still remains to be seen.

There's a curious blankness to his expression when he asks: ] Princess Rosella?

[Were Rosella in a slightly less stunned state of mind, she might recall that she's certainly no stranger to the idea of doubles showing up in the City. She's met plenty of them before, and even once saw a woman--a vampire, of all things--that shared her own face. And time and again, she's told herself that in a place like the City, one must always judge a person based on who they are, not what they are.

But that's hard to remember after a shock like this, which leaves her with her knees shaking and a hot sting in her eyes. When that thing had vowed to chase her, she'd convinced herself that it was only a harmless, baseless threat to try to scare her. Now, all of a sudden, she's not so sure--because it's him, isn't it? And maybe this was all a trick, and now she's caught, and--

There's really no way of hiding in a red cloak in the midst of snowy gray December. Of course he spots her, wrapped up tight to try to quell the shivering. And her voice is thin and shaking itself as she calls back: ]

W-Why are you here?!

[The "again" remains unspoken, but the dog would know exactly what she means, with or without it.]

[ There's a difficult question to answer if ever there was one. He had just asked Saya the same exact thing not but a few hours ago and although her first interpretation had been literal, Nigel's inquiry had been meant as completely metaphysical. Which is why, when faced with the question himself he answers -- in a calm, low voice: ]

I'm not sure yet. But all things reveal themselves in time.

[ He approaches the way one would approach a frightened animal (that is what she is, isn't she -- a startled doe shivering in the snow). Nigel has plenty of experience with animals, with luring them and keeping them and opening them up to see how they work. What he lacks in empathy he makes up for in stillness, his barefeet leaving footprints in the snow. Not worried, not concerned, but still curious. ]

Why are you here? [ Much more literal this time. Why come if you only intended to run? ]

I'm not--

[As he begins to approach, she unconsciously takes a step back, instinctively trying to keep distance between herself and her fears. Everything in her is screaming to run, to seize this head start and flee the way she would from a monster in Daventry. But this isn't Daventry, and this is no ordinary monster, and her hand creeps up as if to put some feeble defense between his jaws and her throat.

In a way, it's lucky it does; through the folds of her cloak, she can feel the familiar weight of her pendant resting against her chest. Suddenly seized with a desperate idea, she scrabbles for the chain and pulls it free of its confines, clutching the smooth, cool weight in her hand. She's used this pendant only once in her life, reserving it for times of the greatest peril. But of course, facing down certain death is likely as great a peril as any.

She's sure she can rub the stone faster than he can lunge, and that the teleportation that follows will be instantaneous; it's that assurance that gives her the courage to speak once again.]

They won't this time. You can't have me.

[She has no intention of dying today, whether her foe yet knows the means or not. He'll just have to be disappointed once more.]

[ The scene playing out in the street would most likely be comical if the elements at work (fear and death and obsession) were not so inclined to spell tragedy. Still, the sentiment just expressed to him is so obscenely ridiculous and random that Nigel cannot help but laugh. A hand coming to cover his mouth as he does so, breath pluming up out of his fingers, the sound of it is decidedly not as alien as the Black Dog's laugh. Not a bark, not a growl, just a laugh. Almost charming in its boyishness as the corners of his eyes crinkle.

To Nigel it's a strange thing to do, to laugh. Only Jack ever seemed to manage it properly from him, and yet. ]

I beg your pardon? We've only just met.

[It's the laugh that ultimately gets through to her, makes her stop a moment and slowly come back to her senses. He's certainly not acting like the hound of death would, and almost as an afterthought, she takes note of his bare feet surrounded by white snow. Bare feet...]

Are--are you Nigel?

[And her cheeks go red in an instant, the pendant slowly falling from her relaxing fingers.]

I'm so sorry, I...so very sorry, you just--startled me, pardon, are you...you're Nigel?

[ Strange behavior, to be sure -- but Nigel's never been a very good judge of what's appropriate and what's not, so he doesn't bother to question Rosella's odd reaction to him. Simply continues to stare her in a way that's not entirely politely, the corner of his mouth still raised incredulously. The expression makes him look more approachable than he probably is. ]

You were expecting to meet me, weren't you? Or should I be someone else instead?

No! I--no, no, you're quite all right, just as you are, I was only--thinking of something else, I'm sorry, do forgive me...

[She rubs her eyes a little, shaking her head a bit as if to clear it as she gets a hold of herself. She's met people with identical faces before. It doesn't mean they're in any way the same person. It doesn't mean anything, it's only a fright, and she's acting absolutely ridiculous, isn't she? Absolutely ridiculous. And goodness, what must the poor boy think of her, with a first impression like that?

Gritting her teeth, she forces herself back into control and then puts on a friendly smile that only wobbles a bit in the beginning, walking a little closer and reaching into her skirt pocket for the cookies she'd put there. When she's close enough--just a bit outside of arm's length--she offers them to him, looking a little sheepish.]

I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've...made a bit of a fool of myself, right from the start. Um, yes, I'm Rosella, and these are for you, and it's...it's very nice to meet you in person, Nigel.

[ He doesn't move to take what's offered to him, not right away. No, for a moment or two, he simply allows her to hold them out, as if expecting her to change her mind or draw away the moment he reaches for them. If Nigel had a better understanding of human emotion outside of himself, he would probably be better equipped to acknowledge Rosella's embarrassment. But he's not, so instead he simply watches her, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment as he finally reaches to take the small gift. ]

Apologies aren't necessary, [ he says evenly. ] You were startled and perhaps I'm not as you imagined me to be. [ Nigel looks down at the cookies that she's given him; again, thinks of mother and continues to smile in that elusive way. ]

Are you always so generous? [ His toes curl in the snow. ]

[Not as she'd imagined is an understatement. But the more she looks at him, searching for any small detail to help separate him from the other creature that shares his face, the more she's able to distinguish the small nuances that make them different. There's an intensity about Nigel, it's undeniable, but to Rosella's eyes, it's not predatory--not in the way the Black Dog was, at least. And the more she looks, the more she decides that they really aren't the same, though she does mistake his lack of emotion for awkwardness, when really he is anything but.]

Some of my friends here were sent off to schools, too, and they never seemed to get many treats while they were at it, so...

[She stops; it's her turn to feel awkward now, and she's really not sure why.]

If...you don't like them, there's no need to--I only thought you might like something sweet to eat, that's all.

[ Nigel covers the confections with his hand and holds them to his middle as if they were in need of warmth. There was very little he cared about in the world beyond destiny and Jack and the Holy Order; but his mother ( poor mother, put to bed with still a head) has been always spared a kind thought and those that manage to evoke memories of her are offered something that vaguely resembles compassion. It's just an illusion, however, a series of gestures and expressions that fail to properly connect with the innerworkings of Nigel's heart and mind. But only those who look to peek past the curtain seem to grasp this truth about him. ]

You'll forgive me if I'm unused to kindness. That does not mean it's unwelcome. [ She was right, though. When he was young, his mother used to send him all sorts of indulgences, but as Nigel grew older and his father more bitter, those packages grew fewer and far between until one day they finally stopped.

He stares at her for a very long moment, snow beginning to collect on his bare shoulders and catching on his eyelashes. Then, it occurs to him to say: ] Thank you, Rosella.

[What an odd picture they must make, staring at each other as the snow falls around--one a princess in a gown and wraps that would look more at home in a storybook than a city, the other an impassive young man with bare shoulders and feet who barely seems to acknowledge the weather at all. It's strangely beautiful, the way the stray flakes glisten against his dark lashes, and it takes a moment for the implications of the sight to register in Rosella's mind.]

Oh! Goodness, how awful of me, you must be freezing, standing around like this!

[And she bolts for the parcel she dropped on the ground, hurrying over and retrieving it from where it fell. Luckily, the cloak is sturdy and resistant to the weather, so the small dampness from the snow is no great concern, and the other things wrapped inside are well-protected still. She carries it back to him at once, unwinding the cloak as she goes to reveal the shirt and shoes within.]

Here, I brought these--I do hope they fit. The cloak will, at least, and I hope the boots will, too...I'm so sorry, I completely forgot...

[ Again, Nigel cracks a smile. Politeness dictated a neverending stream of apologies it seemed and while most of the time he found it infuriating and distasteful, he cannot help but be passingly amused with all of the Daventry princess's bluster. Precious bounty of cookies tucked away in a pocket, he does not hesitate to close his hands around the things offered to him. He has very little concept of personal space, something that no doubt becomes immediately apparent to Rosella as his fingers brush hers -- catching some in the process -- and he leans in very close to her face to tell her lightly: ]

You really should stop apologizing to me. There's no need and you're doing me a favor.

[She goes still, this time not in fear but from abrupt shyness, and her cheeks flush once again at the invasion of space and the slide of his fingers over hers. A small part of her can't deny that he's very handsome, even if he unsettles her (and perhaps in some way, because he unsettles her), and she's always been susceptible to gestures like this. It's tempting to apologize again, just out of force of habit, but apologizing for apologizing too much is ridiculous, and she clamps down on the words before they can escape her lips, forcing her racing thoughts into a question instead.]

But aren't you cold...?

[ He breathes out a laugh, the sound little more than an exhale or a light cough, one that billows from between his lips as steam that evaporates into the December air. ]

Quite, [ he admits and then slides his newly acquired clothing into his arms. It's almost as if he moves into her and then past her, the way his continues that lean only to brush along her side to retreat to the garage. At least there he'll have a chance to warm slightly before pulling on the shirt and the shoes and dry some of the snow from his skin. Whatever's accumulated begins to melt quickly once inside and he slicks some of the residual water from his arms with a hand. It's only as an afterthought that he turns to see whether or not she's followed. ]

You must be cold as well, fine cloak or not.

[And she does follow, as if guided by a string, her mind on a hundred different things and still a little awestruck from the previous moment. The garage is suddenly warm, the heat enveloping her as she steps inside, and it takes that sharp contrast in temperature to shake her back to her senses.]

I don't...er, mind it much, though. [She shrugs a little, even as she shakes some snowflakes from where they collected inside her hood.] Winter is nice, in its own way. I'm sure it's much more difficult to arrive here in the winter, though, because of the weather. I was lucky to come in the summer, and it was a fortunate thing, too, since I fell in the fountain and ended up soaked through, besides.

That sounds like an exceedingly more irritating way to arrive, yes, [ Nigel notes as he brushes some of the snow from his slacks before finding a dry spot to sit down and try on the boots provided him. ] Though, [ he adds, after a moment's thought, ] the weather now isn't nearly as dreadful as England at its worst. Snow is arguably better than rain and we have that in excess there.

I've heard it's quite a rainy place, yes. Is it all city like this, though? I'm still not much for all the buildings, even after so long here. Daventry is all fields and hills and forests, not stone and towers.

[ Nigel shakes his head silently as the first boot goes on. They're a bit rough for his tastes (growing up in preparatory schools meant shirts and slacks and ties were his personal preference by necessity), but for the meantime they'll do. Saya had similarly offered Nigel a jacket and shoes but neither had turned out to be a good fit. These were far more promising. ]

The cities are cities but there's plenty of England that's still farm and field. We're an old country compared to other parts of Europe and certainly compared to America, but it's mostly castles and the occasional keep. [ He stands, giving his feet a little stomp, settling his feet into the shoes. Satisfactory enough to get him to crook a passing smile. ] Where I go to school it's mostly just us and tumbled down walls running over hills. That's all.

[A pleased look crosses Rosella's face at the fit of the boots--it'd been a guess in the dark, picking them, but it seems she's gotten at least close enough to be acceptable, even if they are a bit scuffed from the wear and tear Duo put them through. But that pleased look instantly brightens at the mention of castles; most of the stories she's heard about England have been set in the city, and it's nice to hear that there are some parts that aren't so different from her own Daventry, after all.]

America is where Prince's Ton is, isn't it? That's the school my best friend goes to. Do you ever visit the castles in your England, or are they very far from your school? The alligators must like all the rain you get there, don't they? [And she leans forward a little eagerly, without quite realizing she's doing it.]

[ She is rather quaint, isn't she -- Nigel thinks absently to himself as Rosella leans forward into his space just far enough to catch her attention. Rules of attraction don't really cross Nigel's mind since they're not really something he subscribes to. Obsession, yes; destiny, yes. Everything else is biology, boiled down to chemical action and reaction. He wonders what sorts of changes Rosella's physiology might be going through at that very moment before exhaling. ]

Princeton -- if I remember correctly -- is located in America, yes. I've never been so the country as a whole is a bit abstract in my mind, as are Americans in general. [ His mouth quirks as if this was maybe meant to be a joke. ] As for castles, I've visited many of them. Both in England and abroad. I'm quite interested in the kings of old, you see. The order of knights and their role in history. Sovereignty, divine right. Those sorts of things.

[ His voice goes quiet, almost reverential as he speaks of these things and a look that Rosella hasn't seen yet on Nigel creeps now onto his face. It's as if he's enraptured with the idea -- which he is. Oh, he most certainly is.

It takes a moment to break him of his revere and when he finally emerges from it, his cheeks have gone a little flush again. Blinking, his eyes find focus on Rosella's face. Eventually it dawns on him to say something. ]

...no alligators, I'm afraid.

[She tips her head a little, pleased to see his once-impassive face finally seeming to take on life and interest. And really, she thinks, isn't it fortunate that he likes that one in particular? Because she can certainly talk about castles and knights and kings at great length--and it's even nice, in a way, since so few people in the City really seem interested in them. It's always made her feel a bit old-fashioned, liking and expecting that sort of thing; despite herself, she finds herself feeling a rare flicker of hope that she might've just found a subject they share in common. It'll certainly make living together (and forgetting the terrors of his face) easier, having a topic to bond over.]

And adventuring? My father was a knight before he was king, actually, and earned the throne through a quest. Those were always my favorite stories when I was younger.

[She pauses, looking a bit sheepish herself, and then finally laughs as it occurs to her to explain.]

We have them, in the moat. Alligators, that is, in the moat around the castle. Mother always told me to be careful of them, going over the bridge, or they'd snap.

[ Again, Nigel exhales through his nose that laughing sound. ] How much like a fairy story your life sounds sometimes, Princess Rosella. Alligators in the moat, [ he says half to himself and half to her. Looking down at the undershirt he's wearing, he pinches at the damp cloth measuringly and then decides he'd be better off without it.

He doesn't bother to show modesty because in truth Nigel has none to pull the thing off up over his head and quickly shimmy into the shirt Rosella's provided. The cloak then follows, though he takes the opportunity to fold his undershirt neatly before also tucking it away. As he goes about doing this, he speaks: ]

Some would argue the right of kings is in the blood, and should not be earned through deed for it violates the purity of sovereignty. [ Here Nigel glances up, some of that fire in his eyes again. ] But none should simply rest upon their laurels, and certainly not kings. That your farther earned his crown through deed and action should be commended, not scoffed.

nigel's mobile;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;

you cannot map the ways of divinity;