What is this, Book Five?

casually posting the response to an rp here for future use. again

Her first instinct when he had flipped his ashen coloured cloak aside, was to grab a rock, or some other jagged item that could cause some amount of pain and damage to his cranium, and hit the androgynous figure over the head with it. Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how the situation played out), reason prevailed in her internal struggle and she simply allowed him to do as he pleased without argument. Thankfully, all the elven male chose to do was resheathe his long blade of tarnished metal and not procure a shorter, more manageable dagger to spell her demise as Lucille had originally dreaded. It was a slight relief, even with the disastrous carnage being wrought by furry barbarians all around them, though rather short lived. Especially when the unknown bloke began approaching her.

The blonde's entire demeanour stiffened up defensively as the pretty man approached her, even if she would admit it was in a rather meek and soothing fashion (which, somehow, irritated her quite a bit), though the hand resting on the beautifully ornamented sword hilt did not go unnoticed. She racked her head for every self-defence method she had picked up through crossing the pavement stones of her life while silently thanking her older brother for being so adamant in her learning fencing and some bits of savalte. If she was correct in her assumption of where  and when this insanely realistic dream seemed to be taking place, she should have the upper hand in terms of knowledge of defensive tactics and their counters. Executing them, however, would be a completely different ball game.

His steps were purposeful and light, as though he were dancing on air rather than plucking his way nimbly across stones splattered with blood, bile, and manure mixed with who knew what else in a terrible concoction of sorts.

Another thing that the tiny woman noted was his laboured breathing, though whether that was due to the amount he had been battling (she dearly hoped that he wasn't on the side of the raging lunatics burning down buildings in puffs of suffocating smoke because that would cause some problems), or anxiety, she had no clue. He began waving his arms around in an animated method, catching her by surprise, however she quickly figured out that he was using sign language. To overcome their language barrier? Oh, no, he was mute. Well, then. That would be difficult.

"I'm stuck here, in this ludicrous, ancient tomb of a dream with a mute man who's way too beautiful for his own good, and now I learn that he's mute above not understanding a word I'm saying, anyway." Lucille thought with pensive disdain to herself, "Could things get any worse?"

As if in response to her cynicism, a haystack alarmingly close to her promptly caught on fire, cascading bits of ash and smog onto her head of golden locks. At least the somewhat-male didn't appear to be on the side of the maniacal beasts, judging by his earnest, albeit sarcastically emphasised widening of eyes and gestures towards them afore pointing into the distance. "Leaving?" Was what Lucille took it to mean, and she nodded fervently, the blustery heat and sheer overwhelming anxiety sending her head spinning. How was he so calm in all of this?

In any case, she followed the man's speedy footsteps outside the ruined village, her heart calling in agony at how they were simply unable to help, even though this was quite surely just a hallucination or dreamlike state and none of these people could actually be alive.

Surprisingly, the duo had not been ambushed by any of the monstrous men who appeared to be rather preoccupied with trampling crops and crushing livestock and already dead bodies to be chasing after prey who got too far.Lucille thought that lucky, since it wasn't too likely that the men would hunt for them after their raid was over. It would be too much hassle for a handful of peasants who didn't seem like they'd be much of a threat.

Once they were an adequate distance away, the two came to a halt. The damsel did not take it upon herself to argue, as she was rather out of breath from the ordeal where she had inhaled an unhealthy amount of smoke. The running did not help her case, either, but she was simply ecstatic to have gotten away without any injury, barring the sharp scratches on her knees. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to seep away from her veins, she could truly feel the pain of it, ruby crystals of liquid trickling down her niveous canvas of legs. Without thinking things truly through, the Monegasque tore a part of her skirt, pressing it against the wound to prevent any more blood meandering to the sandy floor. Barbarians were one thing, wild animals were another. She looked up to where the charming man stood, and sighed. Without his ability to speak, she wouldn't even be able to tell if she knew a language he understood. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.

"Lucille. It's my name." Lucille said. That didn't appear to work, but she repeated her name again, and gestured to herself. On most occasions, this would almost be comical, but not in this one, particularly. "Can you write?" Asked the woman before realising how stupid it was to do so before making a wiggly gesture in the air like someone holding a pencil and drawing before tapping to the ground. Hopefully, he would understand and tell/ write his name.

- - -

As soon as relative safety was assured, the first thing he did was heave a sigh of relief and plop himself down to the ground in a manner that wasn't quite graceful. Now that the rush of blood pounding in his eardrums and throat receded, he was utterly exhausted. Considering the fact that he was involved rather recently in such a fiasco, his weary state was more than forgiveable. In spite of that, he managed to maintain a friendly enough expression even as he motioned for her to spare him a moment to collect himself. In the meantime he took the opportunity to better examine the maiden's own current state of wear, a flicker of concern crossing his features at the sight of her scraped legs. In this day and age, it was best to tend to even the most minor of injuries before anything else. It was common knowledge, really. Leave any sort of wound unattended and one might find themselves among the dead come sunrise.

So, intent on tending to the others injuries first (because he honestly preferred that people would not die in front of him), he searched the inside pockets of his cloak in hopes that he did indeed have a medical kit of some sort. It would be rather disappointing if he lost it, there were some elixirs in the small wooden box last time he checked-- Oh, never mind, he found it. No worries here! All should be well. Tapping lightly on the container, he hummed in self-satisfaction before pulling out the small yet handy kit and swiftly placing it on the ground in front of him-- nudging it a bit in Lucille's direction before opening it with a quick flick of the rest to reveal it's contents. Bandages, antiseptic herbs, and a few emergency potions. A typical vagabond's assortment, no really, nothing special at all.

Was he delaying any further communication? Well, sure, but it was far from being intentional. He simply saw this as something that needed attention first, before any more concern could be given to the evident language barriers that lay between them. With her speaking "English", and him being mute and certainly a non-English speaker. Trivial matter such as answering the typical inquiries of who, when, where, how, and why can wait. Especially since he would probably be unable to answer some of those questions.