Private Maybe This Time

[Beatrice Govan]

Memorial Plaza, Avalonia, Dosuun

It was a new beginning.

Evelynn could only see the mirth in the scenario as a new memory was formed while she stood staring into the face of death. The stone statue towered far overhead, a depiction of a lone Stormtrooper standing tall in the face of self-sacrifice and duty. It was a stark reminder that no matter where she went in the galaxy, there was no outrunning the constant tide of war that swept from planet to planet in devastating torrents.

A gloved hand reached out, a single finger brushing upon the stretching plague bearing a litany of carved names, listing the souls that perished in defending the city. An endless cycle but a necessary one, nothing emboldens a cause like brave and more importantly dead men and women

As she stood, face knotted in careful consideration it seemed as if the slight blonde woman was having a respectful moment of reflection but in reality, she didn't care.

It was not her fight, she felt nothing for this planet or its people. What Evelynn felt, was only concern for herself and curiosity for this next step in her life. It was almost alien, really, a different world far from gothic nepotism and anti-Force user fanatics.

And yet the statue served a grim reminder that such chaos was never far behind.

She turned away, taking a moment to lean upon her cane. Walking again was such a boon, and at the very least Avalonia seemed to be a suitable place for a leisurely stroll. Safe, clean and meticulously laid out. It made sense, the symbol of The First Order couldn't be a chaotic mess of plebian design.

Midday was approaching.

This was to be the time and place of her meeting with a representative that would aid her in settling into a new life.

Evelynn had come to this planet with the means of a poor refugee. It was a humiliating fall from such lofty heights of royalty and daughter of the Emperor. The clothes on her back were an anonymous collection of cheap and cheerful, straight from the bargain rack. It had meant to aid her passage to Dosuun but ultimately she had been flagged and found out straight out of transit.

She couldn't fault their intelligence at the very least.

Beyond her clothes, a cane and a datapad were all that the woman came equipped with. Both aids of a different kind, one to help her walk until she had regained muscle mass in her legs and the other to be her voice.

The woman inwardly scowled, hoping that this representative would be on time. She was never one to be kept waiting.

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
MEMORIAL PLAZA

Ever since his promotion, Tir had been tasked with more responsibilities in the FOSB. It wasn't his preference, in fact the Firrerreon had kind of enjoyed his circumstances as a follower, but a shuffle in the personnel of the Bureau had resulted in his becoming a Senior Agent. Made him sound old, like some desk jockey. Still, the pay upgrade was decent, and the freedom to run operations how he saw fit almost made up for the extra workload he had to maintain.

Almost.

Dressed in a fairly casual outfit, namely his shirt, pants, boots and a blast jacket, Tir looked like a local. Granted he was, but that wasn't the point, as he was able to blend in easily enough with the civilians. The several silver-colored scars across his face, his yellow-hued skin and his black/silver hair marked him as a near-Human. Not that it mattered much, he supposed, since Dosuun had recently become a lot more populated with all kinds of species, from all over the galaxy, so Tir was just another mingling sentient who looked different.

There she is.

The Agent walked across the plaza, as his keen eyesight caught the individual he was to meet. He walked with hunched shoulders, as he chewed at some meat on a stick from a local vendor not far away, as the aroma had been too good not to buy one. There had been a dossier, a holofolder on his datapad at the office, but Tir wasn't exactly the 'read the report' type; he had skimmed, essentially, his natural impatience demanded he get up and move, as he hated being in one place for too long. Especially at a desk.

"You always scowl that much?" Tir said in a gravelly tone, as he walked over and stopped beside his meeting appointment. He glanced down to the short humanoid, noted the cane and datapad, and pale complexion. Had there been something about that in the file? Maybe. "I'm Tir. You ready to see your new home, or do you want a tour first?"

The task was far from his usual affair. This one likely involved considerably less blaster fire. Maybe.

It was only midday.

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

He came out of the blue, causing a small flinch as her attention had been focused on more, professional-looking members of the public. She could hardly be blamed for her surprise. After all, who expected that The First Order would send an imposing fellow dressed as a civilian and eating a...stick of meat?

Evelynn's face turned blank, her stare roaming from his feet upwards to the man's face. The jaundiced hues of his face summoned thoughts of the Firrerreon and for a moment she was lost in the thought of dead past. A wonderful species. Their regenerative abilities made for enthralling torture, minds always breaking because their bodies didn't.

Never mind all that.

She settled into an expression that sat somewhere between customer service smile and perturbed housewife, which was the polite way to describe constipated. Affixing the datapad to a magnetic strap upon her left forearm, her gloved right hand began to type upon the screen in a practised motion.

“Only when I am accosted by menacing men with meat,” the robotic feminine voice that came forth from the datapad lied. In truth, she really did scowl that much but that didn't mean that he was supposed to point it out.

“Beatrice,” she continued in a stark introduction, “and yes, I do require a tour. It would be worthwhile to get familiar with the local area.”

As she readied her cane for the walk ahead of them Evelynn couldn't help but pause and stare at the still perplexing stick of meat. The woman's nose wrinkled. She actually had to concede that it did smell delicious but it also looked utterly horrendous.

“What is that?”

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
MEMORIAL PLAZA

The young woman's expression was priceless. Tir wasn't a people-person, not a long stretch, so pleasantry was going to be whatever it turned out to be. With a casualness, the Agent watched as she went about placing the datapad and used it to type a response. He continued to watch as she typed, then the voice from the device spoke. He grunted, a smirk on his lips, before he took another bite of the meat from a stick.

"Fair enough," Tir muttered, unable to argue the logic. Though there was something about the way those green eyes regarded him. Something off. "Beatrice. Right. Tour it is, then."

Tir turned to begin the walk, however a question pulled him up short. He looked to the stick, with the morsels of meat skewered on it, then raised his eyebrows. "Meat." He said simply, though even he knew that response was very unforthcoming. After a moment, he added. "Porg. From Grizzler's vending stall... that way."

The Firrerreon motioned with his head, as he took another bite and pulled a small cube free. His canines were quite evident. There might have been a low growl as he chomped down on the meaty piece, the juice equally as delicious. Grizzler always cooked a great stick of meat, every single time. With a curious glance to Beatrice, Tir looked to the meat stick, then reached over and offered it to her - each morsel was individually skewered, so the Firrerreon hadn't touched the other bits with his mouth.

"It's good," He said, as though that should clear every concern or hesitation up. "Livin' in this part, you'll eat Grizzler's. No factor."

Whether Beatrice did or didn't, Tir began to lead the way on the merry little tour. He would have given his left arm for an insertion against some crime lord's base right now. Still, a mission was a mission, so he would do his best at getting it done. While Tir didn't go slow, he did gauge the speed his companion could walk with the cane, and adjusted to step around the same. He motioned to the plaza...

"Memorial Plaza, local park, clearly," He muttered. He motioned to a block of buildings to the right of that. "Combination business and living space. Jetson's Bar is down the alleyway on the north side there. Decent place." As they continued, he looked to the other side of the street. "That side, mostly corporations. The Royal Palace isn't far from here, about ten minutes by speeder, so it's being claimed by businesses wanting proximity at lower rent prices."

Tir finished the remainder of the meat, then tossed the stick. He wiped his hand on his pant leg, as he motioned ahead along the path they walked.

"Apartment is that way. Not far. About ten minutes on foot, several blocks." The Firrerreon glanced to Beatrice, supposing. "Local speeder hire isn't far. This is kind of a central middle-class hub in the city. Decent all round."

Some other pedestrians passed by, which caused Tir to step closer to Beatrice to get out of the way. He stayed there, it was easier than moving about on the pavement separation. As they continued, the Agent pointed out some more locations - hovertrain stations, local grocery stores, a few more bars, and the direction of some nearby clothing stores. The usual, really.

"Anything specific you wanna know?" He asked, his dark eyes staring, assessing her...

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Meat.

Was he primitive? Had this man been found and thawed out of some icy rock from ten billion years ago? Evelynn blinked and then blinked once more as he managed to scrape a few words out of the primordial ooze that no doubt lurked within his skull. Even the way he ate the damned meat was savage, all canines and...

...did he just growl?!

Had The First Order set up a tour guide that would lead her into a dark alley and eat her? It certainly felt like it.

Before Evelynn descended too far into a fever dream of being eaten she witnessed the offering of sustenance from her caveman companion. This was utterly horrifying in several ways. The first was that it was meat on a stick. The second was that his meat on a stick. And the third was the notion of eating in public. She would die before showing the entire planet how a lady without a tongue swallows her food.

She waved his meat away dismissively and began to type.

“Grizzler's. Yes. I see.”

The woman felt somewhat aware of the pace she forced upon them both, and only felt shame in her own inadequacies in terms of having a functional, healthy body. Otherwise, she quite enjoyed the notion of him having to shorten his steps. It was the small inconveniences that counted, the little things in life.

Aside from that, Evelynn largely paid attention. Nodding as Tir pointed out the local amenities one by one with a studious expression now fixed upon her sharp features. Food. Leisure. Drinks. Transport. Business. Transport. It was the basic list of what one needed, even if it was so terribly...middle-class.

There was a small moment in the thrum of early afternoon hustle and bustle where Tir felt it was absolutely necessary to invade her personal space, his comparative mass crowing her own much smaller, fragile form. Out of instinct, the woman turtled, head shrinking into her neck as shoulders raised on instinct. Everything was clenched, just for a moment and then mercifully it passed.

Eventually, the tour came to an end and from the way he stared Evelynn briefly pondered if this was the part where he devoured her. That would be rather rude, and a colossal waste of time after all that walking.

“Yes, actually,” she typed into the device, “how safe do you consider this area to be? In fact, how safe do you consider this planet to be?”

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
MEMORIAL PLAZA

The reaction to the offered meat wasn't a complete surprise, Tir had to admit. In his mind, it had been a gesture, perhaps something welcoming. But he supposed to others it could be seen as plebeian, even if well intended - because the young woman looked like she needed a good feed, judging by the frail and small physique, just to avoid evaporating. Still, Beatrice waved the offer aside, to which Tir shrugged and gnawed on another piece of the succulent Porg, before he finished it and tossed that stick.

About all those damned birds are good for.

At least his companion had started to pay attention when the information about the area began to be shared. The Firrerreon didn't like to repeat himself. In fact, he didn't like to talk much, really, and tended to use the bare minimum to convey what he wanted or needed to. There was some irony in the realization that Beatrice was more talkative than he, even using a datapad as a vocal unit. And now that Tir thought about that - the datapad - he wondered what had happened; perhaps this was one of those rare instances where a more thorough (re: actual) study of the datafile might have been worth the time spent.

Eh?

Tir's sharp vision caught the shift in Beatrice's posture, as she shied away as he stepped closer to avoid pedestrians, and his eyes narrowed momentarily. That was a odd reaction. Or maybe it wasn't, the Firrerreon was basically an appointed interaction - a scheduled stranger - in her life temporarily, so it stood to reason Beatrice might be reluctant to be open about personal space. Or maybe there was more to it, something unkind? Ultimately, it wasn't Tir's business, but he remained closer as they continued, just to see what happened.

"Safe as anywhere with decent law presence and well-lit streets at night," Tir said in a low voice, as he glanced around the street. The lights were maintained, much like the area itself, with very few broken or damaged posts. "Late night stroll? That's on you. Dosuun is safer now though, after the attacks few years back, lot of defensive improvements. Shields, space emplacements, spaceports. That kinda thing."

The information about what had been added to protect the planet was documented publicly, namely sectioned city shielding, which covered large areas of population from a range of threats above, and even a defensive starport in high orbit. There were some other surprises that weren't so public, which Tir hoped some numb-brained assaulter would activate by coming at the First Order, but the likelihood of that happening weren't as high as in the last decade. Still, those defensive goodies would be a problem for anyone...

Oh. Right.

"Got orders to get starting provisions," Tir informed suddenly, as he changed the subject. He produced a small cred-stick and showed Beatrice. "Clothes, food, amenities... there anything you need? No real cred limit, but don't go overboard."

The mention to the task to include a pre-paid shopping opportunity had surprised Tir, but he guessed there were reasons, especially since this 'Beatrice' was being setup for a decent lifestyle at the First Order's expense. That meant she was somebody, even if the Firrerreon didn't know who - or whether he would ever know...

"I don't have all day," Tir insisted with a wry expression. "But I can carry the stuff to the apartment. If you want."

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

“That sounds satisfactory,” came a swift response from the electronic voice as Evelynn took a step back to regain some sense of personal space once more. Perhaps next time she would give him a hearty whack with her cane.

As a priority, the safety of the city was paramount, the last thing that the woman needed was another assassin at her doorstep or worse, another Sith to come and take her home to father. Evelynn imagined that her escort considered her worries to be more along the lines of the ones that frail, blonde women were supposed to have and she was more than fine if that was, indeed, what he thought. It was always better to be underestimated.

In what was both a pleasant surprise and a horrifying concept Tir produced a cred-stick and informed her that shopping was also a part of their itinerary. Pleasant in the fact that The First Order was willing to accommodate her needs but horrifying due to the meat-eating caveman that would be accompanying her. She was willing to bet that he growled in his sleep like some great, unruly canine.

I don't have all day.

Those words made Evelynn tilt her head to the side, before a stare of interrogation was driven upwards at his face, her emerald eyes piercing into those of his supposed impatience.

“Is this assignment a punishment for you, Tir? Did you draw the short straw?”

She scoffed, upper lip snarling in disdain before the blonde finally broke eye-contact so that she could briefly mull over what 'starting provisions' she would actually need. With an uncertainty pertaining to her more permanent location within First Order space she made a snap judgement against anything too bulky right then and there.

“Clothing and groceries, that should be enough for now.”

A beat.

“And a caff maker.”

Her free hand dramatically gestured for him to lead the way before her fingers were once again tapping upon the device.

“Lead the way, your majesty. I do hope that my slow gait does not impede on your important plans for the day. Another three trips to Grizzler's, is it?”

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
MEMORIAL PLAZA

There wasn't much to do except wait and see if the offer was accepted. Whether Beatrice did, or didn't, accept the help wouldn't take any skin from Tir's nose, and he would just report all the same. And while his superior had stated to help however he could, there was really very little want to do that. So, Tir stood there, and watched the young woman glare, as he furrowed his eyebrows in amusement. Her datapad spat out something about the assignment being a punishment, some kind of short straw type of deal, and he considered.

"Nah," The Firrerreon shrugged with a dismissive turn of the head. Even though the voice of the datapad was artificial, there was some definite spice on that response, so Tir gave some right back without flinching. "It being punishment implies I care. I don't."

Even though he hid it as best he could, there was a small smirk that played on the Agent's lips. Still, for the moment, Beatrice seemed content to consider what might be needed, instead of having a comeback right away. That was fine by Tir. His dark eyes looked back to the gaunt, young woman and he cast a critical eye. She seemed very thin, too thin, and there was some morbid curiosity about the cane and lack of voice. Vocal damage, perhaps? Tir couldn't recall if it was in the file.

Clothing, groceries and a caff maker. Tir thought to himself, as he glanced away. Surprisingly short. Good.

There was a dramatic motion from Beatrice, as she gave a mocking 'let's go', followed by some sass about being a majesty and her walking speed. And a snip at Grizzler's. Heh. The Firrerreon laughed, though it wasn't necessarily pleasant. Tir tried not to judge her, to consider her the rear-end of a Bantha without knowing more about what she had gone through, but damn if Beatrice wasn't making it hard to do.

"If anyone should be royalty with the treatment First Order is giving ya, it's you, Princess," Tir said in retort immediately, as he put his hands on hips and inclined his head. His expression was a mixture of amused and bored. "And it isn't your walkin' speed. Everyone's gone through something," He continued, sounding suspiciously supportive - but still tinged with some spice of his own. "Believe it or not: you aren't my only charity case today--"

With a pointed motion down the street with an extended arm, Tir raised his eyebrows. Things were certainly gaining a snide undertone, and quickly, but the Firrerreon had said - on numerous occasions - that he wasn't interested, or suited, to dealing with people for the FOSB. Well... ones they wanted alive and on friendly terms, anyway.

"--clothing stores are that way. Tick tock, Grizzler's is waitin'."

I'm going to visit the place again now, too.

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Thankfully, a lack of tongue ensured that only a scoff emerged from the mouth of 'Beatrice Govan' at the very notion of being a mere Princess. Did he know nothing? Was he even informed of who she was? Or was it above his pay grade? Oh, that was probably a good come ba-

Charity case?

Evelynn's head slowly turned to stare at him, her eyes drilling a hole into the centre of his ridiculous jaundiced face.

Charity case?!

Once upon a time, such a nothing, snide remark wouldn't have been worthy of even a second thought, but understandably given the woman's recent circumstance it hit a touch too close to home. She'd never been reduced to so little before. Left destitute and broken, trapped in the confines of a wheelchair where sad, regular little people down looked upon her with their pitiful glances. At times Evelynn had only carried on living just to spite them

Wordlessly, she marched (or, angrily hobbled) off in the indicated direction, knowing full well that making some sort of 'don't you know who I am' scene was in direct contrast with her current raison d'etre. She could give him a good, hard whack with her cane later in this apartment, where the eyes of the public couldn't see.

Despite radiating the raging heat of a dying sun, the silent treatment would not be afforded to Tir, no he'd only like that. So her fingers tapped upon the text-to-speech device in a rapid-fire motion that was reminiscent of a girlfriend who had just started the sentence, 'I just think it's funny how...'

“I require a clothing outlet that is both reliable and practical. Not fancy. Not gaudy. Not economical. Neutral or dark colours only, and resistant to both wear and tear.”

She sniffed, staring fresh, new daggers into the back of an elderly couple that were taking up too much space in front of them as they walked at a pace even slower than her own.

“Do you know of a suitable store? Or are you limited to big and tall shops only?”

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
SHOPPING DISTRICT

There were a number of stares, pouts and glares from Beatrice. Tir didn't care. It was all a job to him, and besides she seemed to be in a similar state of mind to him over the situation, so it was all fair game as far as he was concerned. If she wanted to be ratty, he would be right back. The Firrerreon tried not to admit there was a small, tiny, minute level of enjoyment with it all - he wasn't the kind of person to find amusement in teasing someone, but Tir couldn't deny that there was some air of self-importance about Beatrice, and it begged to be met with a similar disposition.

When her fingers began to tap the datapad - with a little more punctuation than previously? - he held back a smirk. With a grunt, the Agent turned her way as they walked, his eyebrow raised at the list of demands for clothing. There seemed to be a lot to consider, much more than Tir would bother with for his own clothing, and he shook his head:

"Oh? That all? Only all that?" Tir muttered, his dark eyes focused on Beatrice's pale face. "I'll pull valuable resources to run some filters, Princess, one sec."

With a mutter Tir walked ahead, looked into a store window that had clothes, and stopped. He pointed, something of a mixture of expression that was indignant and wry, as he said with pointed clarity:

"Look. All kinds of clothes. Short and small ones, too."

Whether the store was entered, or not, fell on Beatrice. But needless to say, Tir had not run any filters or considered the numerous options his task had requested of him. Nor would he. So long as the clothes fit, children's size probably, that's all that mattered to him...

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

She snorted when the man looked at one window and then pointed, content with his find like a dog with a ball. As emeralds appraised the store's front display, she went back to her wrist with a new and valuable lesson to offer the savage meat man.

“Clothes aren't just clothes, and there is more to the garments that one wears than mere fashion,” her device lectured, before she indicated to his feet with the base of her cane, “quality begets frugality. A smart man pays for a single good pair of boots that last half a lifetime, a poor man pays for ten in that same amount of time which ultimately costs more.”

Evelynn's full attention went back to the window, seeking flaws upon the displayed garments that might suggest shoddy tailoring. Annoyingly enough, despite the man just stopping and pointing at a random store, it seemed to be an adequate fit for the woman's desires.

Her brow wrinkled with frustration.

“This will suffice,” she typed before marching into the boutique, her shoulders stiff and chin raised as if she were the very essence of arrogance herself.

In what would come as a pleasant surprise for her escort, Evelynn was a ruthlessly efficient shopper. Or perhaps it wasn't so surprising given that it seemed as if the woman knew exactly what she wanted which she did.

Business attire. Formal workwear. Women's suits. Extra-small. Short. Black ideally, neutrals would do.

Each piece she picked up was thrust upon Tir, who had now been designated as the caddy for a woman so short and small. She didn't believe that he would be so petty to just drop everything, but it was still possible.

At one point the woman stopped when nobody else was in earshot as a black tailored jacket was foisted upon him she stopped to remark:

“Black is good, it hides the bloodstains.”

Her face remained stoic and impassive as the robotic words were spoken and with nothing else said, or clarified she marched off once more, this time so that they (or rather, he, the one with the cred-stick) could pay. Evelynn would leave it up to him to decide whether she was joking or not.

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
SHOPPING DISTRICT

When Beatrice began her explanation about clothing, and fashion and frugality and boots, the Firrerreon just raised an eyebrow at the robotic voice. With a skeptical look down, he considered his own boots, which were well-worn but heavy duty and suited to a range of scenarios or environments...

"Are you complaining about my boots?" He muttered, eyes narrowed as he looked back to the short humanoid. "These ones aren't just for looks. They can survive magma for a hot minute. You'd be lucky to have these boots."

Even though that wasn't the intent of what the other said, Tir couldn't pass up the opportunity to ruffle some of her feathers. He knew exactly what was being said, but so far there had been some quips that emphasized his intelligence, so he fully planned to maintain that charade. Far be it for Tir to correct someone if they were under the wrong impression - he found it usually worked out to his advantage, at any rate.

Well, at least this store seems to suit.

That said, with a sigh, the Firrerreon followed Beatrice as she entered the store and began to look around. Despite himself, Tir watched Beatrice's green eyes closely. He watched them move around the racks, between items of clothing, how quickly they assessed and dismissed, what caught her attention for longer than other items; all in an attempt to gain a degree of understanding about how she thought, at least when it came to glances or visual reaction. Externally, Tir stood there and walked behind, as clothing was tossed at him to hold, his expression passive and bored, until a jacket was passed to him and Beatrice mentioned - via datapad - about the black hiding bloodstains.

"Accurate."

If she hoped to rattle him, it would take a lot more than implications of death. In fact, Tir agreed. Darker colors were very useful on missions where excessive violence was expected. That said, in those circumstances, the Firrerreon was known to have spare clothing beneath the outer layer, anyway, just in case a change was needed from the... mess.

"But if you need to hide that much, you're doing it wrong."

Far be it for Tir to educate about killing, of course. But adding a little barb to the comment couldn't be passed up. He was starting to establish a dislike of Beatrice, one that was required to disassociate himself from how similar they seemed to be, as there was an undeniable parallel between the pair. The Firrerreon knew he was broken inside, something wasn't quite right with his emotional responses and passiveness to killing, but he could sense - though not in any real tangible way - that the small woman was a creature similar.

And that bothered Tir.

But not because of who, or what, 'Beatrice' was... but because he didn't need that kind of influence in his life.

"Done already?" Tir asked in a low voice, with a hint of a growl, as the pair started toward the check-out, but added. "Expected you to take hours..."

He hefted the pile of clothes from his arms onto the counter, then pulled out the cred-stick, before staring at the store employee until it was all processed and done. Then, once all the bags were in hand, the Firrerreon walked from the store and stood outside for a moment, as he looked around for where to go next - but ultimately it was up to Beatrice, since she would need to decide what was next on the list.

"Shops are that way. Pick where next."

Beatrice Govan​

 

[Beatrice Govan]

“Doing what wrong?” Evelynn's device questioned in retaliation as she gifted him a sickly sweet smile, the picture of untold innocence that the pair both knew was painted.

Their words skirted around two very different kinds of crafts that belonged to the same wicked wheelhouse. It let her gleam something from him beyond primitive meat-eating masculinity. Death. From but a sentence, the woman started to build her own Tir-shaped puzzle, one that was capable of taking the life of another, and without an unnecessary mess. Efficient. Clandestine.

Evelynn imagined that he had orders to dispose of her if she showed signs of unrepentant Sith villainy.

In contrast, she had been much less focused upon death itself but rather the art of suffering. Pain was always a misunderstood companion. There was something in the sensation of physical torment that made the woman feel truly alive, aflame, powerful. She always felt at one with the Force when her nervous system cried out for repentance. A respite in the lonelier times, a lover in the next, a friend always.

And she had spent her past lifetime trying to share such delights with the galaxy, leaving a trail of scarred bodies and minds in her wake.

She shot him a glance as he practically growled at her, a quizzical eyebrow leaping forth to judge the apparent aggression behind such a snide statement. Her gloved fingers hovered over the datapad in consideration of a snappy response, but instead her lip curled and she turned away.

Were she actually as mundane as Beatrice Govan was purported to be then she may have been genuinely frightened. Was that intentional, or just how he was? More beast than man?

“Some groceries,” she answered as they stood outside the boutique, “I imagine we should be able to acquire a decent caff maker at the same time. Two birds and all that, since I'm so kind as to not take up all of your precious time.”

Taking off again in the indicated direction, Evelynn let a few minutes pass by in calculated silence, her gaze drifting off into the void in a move that would make her seem thoughtful, even if it was not the truth.

“Tell me, Tir,” Evelynn typed while walking, “do you go out of your way to be so intimidating? Do you want small women to think that you'd eat them if the chance arose? Or is your carnivorous demeanour an inescapable part of you?”

 

[Tir Grastis]

DOSUUN
SHOPPING DISTRICT

Tir saw the hesitation.

He smirked.

The agent wondered what, exactly, small and innocent Beatrice was stopping herself from saying - or typing, more accurately. The way her fingers were there, poised, ready with a natural response to Tir's mannerisms. He wanted to know. He wanted her to lash out and show who she was, instead of the exterior presented; but there also remained that perhaps Tir was wrong, and he wasn't dealing with a creature like himself, but there had been indications.

Small slips.

Subtle, but there, definitely.

"Yes?" Tir goaded, eyebrows raised.

But sadly Beatrice held her fingers and didn't respond. She curled her lip, it looked like disdain. After a few moments, the mention of groceries was brought up, to which the Firrerreon grunted and started to walk in the direction of those kinds of shops. Then came the robotic voice from the datapad, again, with a little jab about his precious time.

"Two birds and one stone, huh? Put me in that row, make it three," Tir said in a grumble, though amused by the sarcasm behind the monotone voice. He could feel it, like waves. "Then my time doesn't matter."

Thankfully there was quiet, and the pair almost reached the grocery shops, before Beatrice spoke up again. Fingers tapped, it was the giveaway the Firrerreon heard before knowing words would follow, before the small sentient began to ask. She asked about his intimidating nature, about wanting small women to think he would eat them, and whether his demeanor was inescapable...

My she's fancy with her words.

"Better be careful, wouldn't want to confuse me with your big words," Tir said as he turned to regard Beatrice. He looked at her pale face, those green eyes, and he scoffed. "Whatever you think I'm projecting, is just me. Don't aim to make people uncomfortable, or growl, or bare my teeth or whatever else you see as an issue. It's part of me, my species, who I am and how I function... kind of like you, and not getting any sun. Instinctual."

Okay, so maybe his demeanor was a little less intrinsic of a Firrerreon, and more a result of his natural pessimism. But he sure as hell wouldn't admit that to Beatrice, not on his life, nor would he give her the satisfaction of thinking she had gained any kind of leverage on him. With a smirk, Tir narrowed his eyes and added in a lower tone:

"Besides... eating you wouldn't be worth it. Less meat on you than Grizzler's meat-sticks."

Beatrice Govan​