Cirilla had never thought herself a woman of emotion and soul-stirring feelings. Her childhood, particularly her adolescence, had been a tumultuous time that had scarred the woman and her capability to be more lion. She was often cold and callous, lashing out at those who did not deserve it or at others she did not even know. Twice she had lashed out enough to maim two lions on two separate occasions, and both times there had been no real consequences.

Was she invincible?

She did wonder if Vellen had granted her these abilities. If she had served him well enough and had been loyal enough to deserve his recognition. The question swam around in her mind as she wandered through the freyr peak and up to the lookout that peered over the land she called home. As she settled to her haunches, the woman released a sigh as she looked over Amaryllis. The sun was beginning to set, casting a peaceful orange hue over the neutral territories and pride lands.

@Dumah

Bold banderoles of orange and yellow streak across the sky, and as the sun sets on another day, the declining sun seemingly strikes the lands into lambent flame. He meanders along, picking his way up the mountainside, like a king ascending the throne. Of course, he's far from a king, and his reason for coming here is far less bombastic.

He's caught a familiar scent and he can't resist seeking out the striped woman and maybe poking the bear a little more. Not for her attention, or anything. As he's close to reaching the top, he can see her there, the sunlight caught in her woodland fur. She looks uncharacteristically relaxed, and he wishes he could see her face right now, because he's sure she must be smiling.

And for some reason, that's a nice thought.

He slows his pace now, tiptoeing closer carefully and lingering behind her. He doesn't really want to ruin the moment, so he just kind of hangs behind her, his gaze split between her and the horizon.

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The orange hue seemed to burn her coat well enough for her to glow, her otherwise dark brown fur shimmering in the ease of the sundown. It was not very often that the woman seemed to grant herself a moment of peace - perhaps it was because the demons she worked tirelessly to push to the back of her mind escaped... or perhaps it was because she scarcely found herself alone.

The distant hollering of birds and other wildlife seemed to be drowned out as the blood pumped through her body, her ears screaming with movement as she focused on the deafening silence. Until, that was, the ever-so quiet movements of another caught her attention. The tan lioness does not move for a moment, focusing on her breathing and listening to the awkward shuffling and intense lingering that seemed to combine. Subtly the woman parts her jaws, and with a calm demeanour, she inhales. How could she mistake the smell of @Ambrose? Had he come so close to allow her to make a meaty sandwich from his arm?

It's rude to stare, Cirilla remarks plainly, her eyes remaining fixed on the horizon as it too began to burn orange with the calming tones of the sunset. Haven't you got anything better to do? She asks, her crown turning finally to face the ivory lion and look him dead in the eye. Staring, are we?

Oh, he likes her. The more he looks at her, the more he realizes it. It's not the first time he's fancied someone, far from it, but something about the woman is so captivating and electrifying that it keeps drawing him back to her, like a moth to a flame. Is she out of his league? Probably, but Ambrose is nothing if not persistent. The harder the catch, the more inclined Ambrose is to give chase, it seems.

Seeing @Cirilla watch the sun go down in the dwindling light reveals a new side of her—a softer side, perhaps, that he hasn't been shown. At least, he assumes she must have one, somewhere underneath that rough exterior. He's a bit surprised when her voice scythes through the dead silence, as she has given absolutely no indication that she was aware of his presence.

Slightly abashed, he scoffs. "Sorry? I figured you already hit the maximum level of rude when you poisoned me. Staring kinda feels like a small offense in comparison." He clears his throat, the spell momentarily broken. No, no, don't take the bait. She seemed so untroubled before he arrived, but now her defenses are up again, and seemingly insurmountable. He quickly tries to recover; how can he expect her to open up when he's being a child? "Any reason you're up here alone?"

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Isn’t she right to be so defensive and callous towards strangers, towards men in particular? Her whole life had been a chasing game, a running game… a game of trying to understand what is right, and what is wrong. Her childhood was fed with lies about the importance of family, and how they were so important, but time and time again she had been shown the true value of family when they had abandoned her for something better the minute it came along. First it was her mother, then her brothers that had left her with nothing but herself for company. Emrik had lost his way, but Finnulf… they were supposed to be close. So close that her eldest brother had left her without even a whisper, disappearing in the night. She’d found no solace in anything other than Vellen, but even then — what had he delivered? Her drowning have her visions of death, of bloodshed. Was this what her life had become?

The only saving grace that seemed to pull her back from the brink of the unknown was Aurelia. Cirilla was thankful for her little ivory babe, her daughter. She wanted nothing more than to give the girl everything she never had — stability, a family, and most importantly: a father figure. Cirilla had never had one of those, but she has determined early on that she did not need one.

Admittedly, her thoughts had never particularly lingered on Ambrose. Yes, she had poisoned him because it was funny, but she had never expected for him to wander back into her life along with his sister. She has also not expected for him to find her here, vulnerable, watching the sunset so peacefully on an evening. Cirilla, unlike Ambrose, does not retaliate. Your sister was right. You really do like to complain about absolutely everything, don’t you? She remarks with a raise of a singular eyebrow. Shouldn’t he learn his lesson, before she chucks him off the cliff? He asks why she’s up her alone. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. She enjoyed the serenity of the sunset and the cast iron hues it projected across the island she called home. I was hoping to stay away from you. But it looks like I wasn’t very successful. Cirilla retorts with a snap of her tongue, blinking at the male before turning her attention back to the lowering sun.

I know your type, he wants to say. Cool, calm, collected, cold fish, voted most likely to invert your ribage if you breathe at me wrong kind of type. It's just another coping strategy, he knows. Ambrose has plenty of his own, but none involve putting up walls to protect himself. Quite the opposite, in fact. He never had any childhood memories or joys, but he always refused to lose himself to resentment and hatred.

She's still as prickly as ever. A small smile decks his muzzle, privately enjoying bandying verbal blows with the woman. Maybe she thinks he's an annoying asshole, but at least he doesn't have to wonder about where he stands with her. He idly wonders if he digs long enough, will he find that she's a diamond beneath the rock and gravel? Or maybe that's just what he wants to believe. "That's me. Just complaining to complain." Sarcasm laces the words—he's pretty sure almost getting killed in the Pit gives him complaining rights!

Still, her gloomy attitude doesn't deter him much. Instead of taking the hint, he sprawls out behind her. He doesn't come any closer, but he's still making it a point to be as obnoxious as possible, apparently. "Looks like it." He confirms, airily, idly batting at a dragonfly as it passes over his head. He wouldn't still be here if he wasn't intruiged by the woodland-colored woman. For some reason, he wants to know what makes her tick. He wants to know her. So he resolves to follow her around. Like a lost puppy. "You'd be amazed at how hard it is to get rid of me. Ask Uma. She's tried like…what? Five to ten times now?"

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Darkness began to creep over the lookout as the sun crept below the horizon. The gentle orange glow was becoming increasingly muted as the moon seemed to overtake the sun's place in the sky. Rosé eyes look to its brightness for a moment before the voice of @Ambrose seemed to fall upon her ear and a half.

He really was a mood killer, wasn't he?

His sarcasm was evident in his response, and Cirilla couldn't help but react. She rises to her paws and finds herself walking towards the oaf that had laid himself across the ground so inelegantly. She closes the distance considerably and, with her face inches from his, she speaks. You are a damned complaint. She spits, pushing back her ears and then turning her back on him again, breathing through her annoyance and focusing on the disappearing sun.

No one had ever paid her this much attention, so why was Ambrose doing so now? It was strange and alien to her. Uma didn't poison you. I did. I could have killed you that day if I wanted to. She spits, turning her head to look at the idiot. Don't think I won't do it again. Could be in the water you drink, or the next meal you have. Scared yet, Amby?

Shadows begin to grow longer, and the rock beneath him noticably begins to cool off. It's not his favorite time of day; he prefers seeing the sun rise, but he is only here for her, after all. Not that he's welcome, exactly, but Ambrose was never discouraged so easily.

He supposes he wants her attention. Any kind of attention.

When she comes charging towards him, he rolls back over onto his belly in alarm. He remembers the last time they met, and the time before that, and each time, it involved some kind of danger, a certain precariousness that left him, admittedly, scared out of his wits. Not the fear for his life kind of scared... but definitely scared.

His ears tuck back into his multi-colored mane as she scolds him, her face inches away from his. See? Scared again. It's only after she turns away that he deigns to speak, in some attempt to alleviate the tension. "Aw, you just say that to every guy you poison." A sour smile decks his muzzle as he says it—not that she can see it.

He watches her cautiously as she threatens him, bristling. Constantly pushing him away. And, Ambrose, stupid as he is, falls for it. "Okaaay. Making an effort not to be insulted." He cants his head at her. "You know you need? A hug." What, exactly, does she have against him? Someone hurt her. He's just gotta find out who.

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The sun had gone past its peak now, and it began to pull itself closer and closer to the horizon as it set, marking the end of another day. The persistent attention from @Ambrose was something that Cirilla was not used to, and if she was being honest with herself, she did not know how to react. Her natural reaction was not to flee, to run away, no - it was to become defensive, and attack the other who seemed too determined to remain by her side.

And perhaps one day, persistence would pay off.

It was the mention of a hug that make Cirilla turn her head once more. No. She states bluntly, as quick as the next syllable to drop in the air. What I need is someone who can actually look after themselves and pay me some damned attention once in a while. She remarks, pausing ever so slightly before continuing. No man or woman has ever given me that satisfaction, so what is a hug going to do? Make it all go away? You're just as much of an idiot as the next guy. Cirilla comments, rising now to her feet and turning away from the sun in a bid to leave. She was done here.

Unless...

Unless Ambrose was to stop her.

He's a bit surprised at her clipped response. Speaking of being given the cold shoulder. He's not used to such callous responses; he likes to think that his charm is enough to get most lions on his side. Or maybe he's not quite as charming as he believes. Evidently.

He's unable to hide his surprise as he gets totally blown off, those tourmaline eyes all but pinning him with a distinct icyness. Even as she's scolding him, he thinks she looks quite nice in the receding daylight. Did anyone ever tell her that? If not, someone should.

His first instinct is to play the part of the motley fool, but he quickly realizes that would only end up adding fuel to the fire. "First of all, everyone feels better after a hug. And second—can we start over?" At that, he rushes after her, but wisely stays out of slapping range.

"Hey, hey, wait. I'm not an idiot, okay?" He insists. "It's... it's a, sort of... coping mechanism. An act. My stupid jokes." For once, Ambrose is actually being serious. He spends another beat scrambling for words. "Give me a chance to prove myself. To you." Then, a furtive comment as he cants his head at her. "I hate to see a pretty woman unhappy."

@Cirilla

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