Okedoke)
The town of Colline sat nestled on an awkward angle of hills, perched between peaks and the valley lakes miles off. It's full name was Colline des Sorcières— Witch's Hill. Founded in the awakening of the early sixteen—hundreds and improved upon since.
Or loosely put.
Pierre had been raised in the northesternmost swaths of Colline, highest on the hill. As if fate had a sense of humor putting the rich physically above the poor. His home, settled warily on the largest spanse of even land in Colline, was built of dark brick and marble.
It was summer. And Pierre was spending it the only sensible way he knew how: outside.
The weather seemed decent for a summers day, and Clara took the advantage. She made her way to a pond in the woods with a book tucked in her basket. Clara hummed as she made her way down the path listening to the sounds around. The forest seemed quiet and she enjoyed that, knowing that maybe the rowdy boys from town would be back there instead of splashing around the peaceful pond. Knowing better then to assume she stayed quiet even though her shoes clicked on the dirt path.
(So me being an idiot forgot to ask- who's the one who loses things?)
Her )
The DeFranqe property spanned most of the forest despite the relatively small size of the actual manor. Pierre spent most of his time wandering these grounds; it was better than being home, being under family scrutiny and the disappointment of all he is. So he wandered in his casual clothes (vest, undershirt, breeches— typical day clothes of the era), a fistful of particular wildflowers. Echinacea, lemon balm.
(Okie sorry that's what I thought)
Clara came to the pond and heard splashing and laughing. With an annoyed huff she started onward past it pretending as if she was never headed there in the first place. She adjusted the basket but it felt strange… lighter mostly. She glanced in it and sighed. "Of course, must have left it at home or dropped it. Again." She muttered to herself turning around to head back to where she started.
Down the path she had come, some stranger was bending over and cutting purple flowers. Strange for certain.
Clara noticed him alright, but she didn't want to say a word to him. Why would she talk to a stranger when she did not have to? So she kept as quiet as she could. At least until she tripped over her own feet and fell forward. That made a decent amount of racket.
A nearby crow was sent explosive on its wings, crying with irritation. "Oh," the stranger coughed, setting the bundle of flowers down and hurrying over. "Miss. Miss?" He addressed awkwardly, just making sure she hadn't hurt herself, "Are you alright..?"
She looked up her face covered with dirt and her hair messed up. She pushed herself up still on her knees. "I'm fine. No need to get all worked up." She sighed.
He offered her a hand, which was also dirty from some dirt. "I haven't seen a good tumble like that since my uncle was alive," Pierre laughed faintly.
She took it forcing a smile. "Must be awful to live without him." She said softly. "Thank you sir, very kind of you." She said brushing herself off.
"Yes, no, no problem, Miss," he brushed himself off despite having no dirt on him— a gesture of empathy perhaps. "My name is Pierre, Miss," he introduced himself.
"Clara, it's a pleasure to meet you." She nodded dropping her smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear knowing it looked like a mess.
Pierre gave her a nod too. "Lovely day. I live in the manor," he gestured loosely in that direction. The flow of his words weren't particularly impressive— merely implying this was a conversation he's had many times before.
"Oh really? Not as stuck up as I thought for someone living in such a nice place would be." She said sounding rather annoyed. Honestly she just wanted to head back home.
His lip twitched. Offended, a little, but wasn't surprised. T'was usually how it went. "Fair enough.. um… Good day, then,"
She sighed. "I didn't mean it like that sir. You're polite. Other men I've met have just laughed. Not sure where the boys at the pond are from, but they're stuck up." She mumbled.
His eyebrows raised. Clearly, young Mr. DeFranqe was not used to this, but part of his expression inclined on forced surprise. Strange. "Thank you," his hands slid into his pants pockets, his eyes wandered to the basket. "We're you about to have lunch, Ms. Clara?"
"Well maybe, if I hadn't lost it. Along with my book." She sighed looking towards her empty basket. "I must've left it at home. Besides the boys were at the pond, I didn't dare stay there."
He backed up some steps to retrieve his bundle of flora. "Well, lunch is fresh ay home, if you need. Guests at always welcome in,"
"Are you sure? I insulted you it seemed, and you're still inviting me over?" She seemed skeptical. "I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Nevermind it." Pierre insisted quickly. Strange man for sure. "We have pickled ham sandwhiches and carrots," he gestured her to follow him.
Clara did so slowly. "If you are so sure." She replied as a small smile slipped upon her lips.
He gave her a faint smile, and turned to lead her along the dirt path. It was flanked by little stone walls and beyond them banks of flowers; mostly leafy, fragrant, herbs like mint and rosemary. Was that sage?
"Say, are you from Colline?"
"Why yes, yes I am. How could you know?" She asked a little bewildered.
"…Well, no horse." He replied after a minute. As if a pause was really necessary. "I figure at least…lucky guess." Pierre faced forward.
