(Untitled)

[not_lefthanded]

A masked man, clad entirely in black with a sword at his hip, steps in through the door. Behind him, before the door swings shut, there is a brief glimpse of what looks like a library. He raises one eyebrow, rests a leather-gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, and steps into the room. Interesting ...

[tiny masked tag: Westley aka the Dread

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[a_lioness]

A moment passes.

Behind him, a short redhead clears her throat.

She too is dressed in black, though it's broken up by the scarlet and gold on her tunic. There's a sword of a different sort at her hip, and her hand likewise touches the hilt when she notices his. Some things are ingrained.

He carries himself well. It's the next thing she notices, after his back.

[not_lefthanded]

He spins lightly on his heel - she might notice that as well - when he hears the sound behind him, fingers curling a little more tightly about his sword, although he doesn't even start to draw it. Showing steel when one is not absolutely sure that one will have to use it is never entirely wise.

Well, now. This place is full of strange women, it would seem - and this one is looking at him with the sort of interest that he usually reserves for potential marks. The sort of interest that sees things. He might do well to behave himself.

He bows. "My lady."

[a_lioness]

He might, indeed. If he looks closely, he might notice a strange badge affixed to her sword belt. It reads: SECURITY.

Alanna would note, however, that his failure to draw his sword is making an admirable start.

She tilts her head to the side and studies him with a steady purple stare. At last she returns the bow, amusement crinkling her eyes at the corners.

"My sir."

[not_lefthanded]

He does see the badge, but fails to understand it's significance - so his behaviour is entirely unforced, as it were.

"Roberts," he says, "if we must be formal. And I must say, it is always a pleasure to meet a lady who carries a blade with such assurance." He likes women with some spunk. So many of the women in his world are pale colourless little things.

[a_lioness]

"Must we? I'd rather we weren't," she says, smiling a little, "Sir Roberts."

Alanna nods, as if to suggest it's also a pleasure to meet a man who appears capable of handling his blade. People unsure of their swords are in constant danger of slicing bits of themselves (or, less likely, other people) off, after all.

Conversationally, "The assurance comes of years of intensive training, I've found, no matter the bearer's sex."

[not_lefthanded]

"Just Roberts," he says with a laugh. "I'm certainly no lord to be a sir!" It sounds ... odd. Sir Westley, on the other hand, has a certain ring to it.

"Indeed it does," he agrees. "It's not that I have any doubts as to the fairer sex's ability to handle a blade - it's merely that I so rarely see it in evidence." His smile implies that he is pleased, when he does.

[a_lioness]

"Roberts, then."

Alanna is pleased that he's pleased when he does.

It shows in her smirk.

"Nor I, at home. It wasn't allowed for females to train as I did until recently." Her eyes flick left, then right. "Here, however, I think you'll see quite a few."

[not_lefthanded]

"I have already," he says, removing his hand from his sword-hilt, although he does stay in position for a quick draw. She might be nice enough, but he still has no idea who she is.

"So I have," he says with a chuckle. "Most unusual."

[a_lioness]

"A pity that it should be so," she remarks.

Unusual, that is.

As he removes his hand from his sword hilt, she does the same. Slowly, she moves around Roberts and turns on her heel to face him again much as he had earlier.

"I'm Alanna. Sir Alanna, but we've decided against formality."

[not_lefthanded]

He tracks her as she moves - she's as light-footed as him, and that's saying something.

"Sir?" He asks. "Logic would dictate you to be a Lady, so I am assuming it is a different sort of title?"

Fascinating.

[a_lioness]

"Logic would, would it." Her lips twitch into another smirk. "The evidence presented by appearances is not always sound, Roberts."

Beat.

"The 'Sir' is indicative of knighthood, in this case. I'm a knight of the realm of Tortall."

And proud of it.

[not_lefthanded]

"Thusly, why I was assuming my logic to be faulty," he smiles.

"Well. This Tortall must be an enlightened place." He is eyeing her with a little more trepidation than before.

[a_lioness]

"I could be a man," she tells him. "There was a time when no one supposed otherwise."

Alanna simply smiles.

"It's becoming so, I like to think. It wasn't, before." A step closer allows her to better see his eyes. It also puts her within striking range, if he's inclined to notice such a thing (and she thinks he is). "Why are you wearing a mask?"

[not_lefthanded]

He is - of course he is. And while his hand may no longer be on his sword, he has several other weapons that he can reach as easily - and rather more that cannot be removed as they are a part of him.

"Oh," he says airily, "they're terribly comfortable - and so very dashing, don't you think? I think soon everyone will be wearing them."

He smirks.

"Or I could be horribly scarred. Or a famous criminal. Or royalty in disguise."

[a_lioness]

"Quite," Alanna laughs, "though I think most people prefer, even seek recognition."

He's a bit mad, she decides -- not disapprovingly. After all, the same might be (and has been) said of Alanna.

"You could, I suppose, but in each of those cases a mask that covered more of your face might better suit. Unless the company you keep tends toward the unobservant."

[not_lefthanded]

He strokes his chin thoughtfully. She does, in fact, have a point.

"The mask is what people recognise me by, though," he says after a moment. "I should hate to disappoint them by taking it off and being ordinary." Not, of course, that he could ever be ordinary.