Evie
The man's face goes pouty at her ill-concealed giggling, affecting a stern expression that is too adorable and unsure to be of much effect, especially with his puffed cheeks. Evie nonetheless pulls on the most innocent expression she can at the look, miming zipping her lips even as their edges begin to curl helplessly in want of a smile. The company is appreciated, and in the small amount of time he has been lingering nearby, he has proven himself to be a curiosity. Amusing, at least. And when he offers his name, she files it away neatly, just as she does the flinch that is prompted when she offers her hand. Evie does not comment on it outwardly, not wanting to ask about old traumas, but her insides flinch in tandem with the man. She is a healer at heart, perhaps always meant to be one with how the magic had curled inside her from birth. Knowing anyone has been hurt enough for such a reaction makes her heart ache. "See? Now we're not strangers," she says with an impish grin instead, because she'd rather be a warm flicker of fire for him to sit near than a flame that burns and reopens old wounds. He at least deigns to give his hand, and she shakes it gently, used to old manners drilled into her young head that tell her never to shake like a man. But his grip is gentle, though his hands have prominent scars that Evie refuses to let her eyes linger on, determined to see past them and keep the faint smile on his mouth as long as possible. It softens him, makes his anxiety a little less noticeable, and it reminds her of Amalia in a way that makes her crumple. Perhaps she'll learn the story someday, and her mind is already flitting through scar salves from her cabinet in her apothecary, but she bites her tongue to avoid asking.
"Not everyone thinks so, but thank you," Evie admits, a small degree of her own shyness coming through at his fumbling sincerity. Evie had been chastened countless times for her dirtied hands and darkened nails. It had created an anxiety about her cleanliness that her parents happily enforced, and to be fair not many people wanted to shake a dirty hand. At least Peter didn't seem to mind.
He's quite for a long moment, and now it's Evie's turn to try not to shuffle awkwardly. Her notorious confidence is a charade at best, and one she's reluctant to wield when he seems so tentative. So when he speaks she jumps a little, and turns her head to where he's gazing out across the water. "Ah, the shrine?" Best to clarify, since she's not exactly sure of the area or which god the shrine is devoted to. "No. They don't generally...respond to me." Detailed enough to be an explanation, but vague enough to keep her race a secret. It's a burden she hates bearing, but her tongue can never seem to free itself from the chains that have wrapped it up for years. "I was thinking about skipping rocks," she says instead, lifting the smooth rock she'd been fiddling with and showing it to Peter with a shy grin, laying it on the flat of her palm. "I'm terrible at it, but it's a good stress reliever."
be the love you never received
the love you've always wanted
