A Call for Safe Passage (Renoir, PM for Entry)

[Renoir]

Lost within himself for a moment, Renoir sat atop the cliff edge, letting the cool mountain breeze kiss over his skin, his hair tussling about as the wind ran behind his neck and across his shoulders, making him smile and enjoy even more the fresh mountain air. What a quaint place, he thought, and expressly magical. No other place in the world was quite like the mountains. They had character that other places in nature lacked, the man thought, even though he claimed to prefer the forest over all. Perhaps it was changing, or perhaps he was lost in this flashbulb moment, this emotional experience of being in a mountain pass at the edge of Ilia. The man chuckled slightly, listening to Johanna. Anything could be found in Ilia. Any type of person, any flavor of character. She was certainly wrong. But he had been lying, after all.

He stood quickly, brushing himself off, and folded his arms as he gazed across the horizon, down at the pine treetops below him. "I'll leave that decision to you," he said, flashing his eyes back to her as she adjusted herself. Waiting a few more silent seconds before speaking again, he continued to take the scenery around him in full detail. A picturesque moment, he though, though not worth capturing in painting. A scene worth immortalizing in words, and yet to capture a moment such as this in ink would simply make it dull, too ordinary. Something so magical would be dimmed to a human understanding should it be placed in words. The excellence that was 'a loss for words' fit perfectly for this scene. He wondered what Johanna felt, but he wouldn't ask her. Half of him didn't care, and the other half felt it wasn't his business. Yet.

"You know," Renoir said sweetly, turning his body back to her. He stepped towards her, meeting her, then turned his body back out towards the view they now both took in together. "Some might say these moments come once in a lifetime." He fixed his eyes on the sunset, as if the bright light unaffected him. After a couple more silent moments, which he much preferred, he looked at the woman through the side eye, turning his head only slightly enough to make contact with her own eyes. "But I know better than that. Anyway, I don't see why we couldn't stay here. I would certainly hate to miss a view like this in the morning."

Turning away from the woman, Renoir pulled his cloak away from him and laid it on the ground. Poor sleeping conditions to be sure, but he was used to sleeping any way he needed to. He was unsure about his companion.

[Johanna]

Her? Pick where they’d sleep? Johanna almost laughed at the idea, not sure if the man realized how clueless his companion was about ‘roughing it,’ as her siblings had always referred to camping out whilst on their travels. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to; in fact, it was the opposite. But with the chill of the mountain air biting their noses and pinching their cheeks red, Johanna couldn’t know if they really should stay out on the cliffside. But even though she didn’t know, she also didn’t quite care. The sunset was glorious, and she wished to try to count the stars of the night sky once they emerged; the moon already had, sitting in the sky above the setting sun.

Certainly he was right, these moments truly were fleeting ones, not to be missed by leaving the vantage point they now stood on to find more covered shelter. Besides, no clouds spotted the sky, so they were likely safe from the threat of a midnight snowfall. So as soon as Renoir suggested they stay where they stood, Johanna nodded in agreement, pulling her pack off of her back and clumsily unbuckling what she could only assume was to be her bedroll. The man she’d bought it from had insisted it was the warmest she’d find, large enough to fit two people or one person and their full pack - in case there was worry of theft in the night. All Johanna worried for were her notes, though, so the extra room was unnecessary. And while she liked being comfortable, Johanna knew she wouldn’t find such a thing out here; she’d give up comfort any day to see the sun rise from their cliff, anyways.

It seemed her companion, though, did not have the same sort of sleeping gear that Johanna did. Again, a frown twisted her usually gay features as she watched him throw his cloak to the ground. No, that wouldn’t do. “You’ll freeze if that’s all you sleep on!” The brunette exclaimed as she dug into her pack, trying to see if she could find something he could use. Coming up short, she unbuttoned her coat, taking it off and holding it towards the man, left in her tall leather boots, leggings beneath a short cloth skirt and her multiple shirts beneath a leather vest. The cool air quickly found its way into her shirts somehow, but she didn’t shiver. Even if she was cold, she was Ilian, after all.

“Here; this bedroll is lined anyways, and I don’t need my guide catching a cold.” Her convent days showed in that moment - well, they would have if the man knew she’d been. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being uncomfortable or in need of something when she wasn’t wanting.

[Renoir]

Renoir knelt over his cloak, still on his feet, and laughed aloud as the woman spoke fervently. She was cute, he thought. He knew better than to think he would freeze in these conditions, but this poor woman had no way of knowing how adjusted he was to Ilian temperatures, be they on the ground or high in the sky as they were now. He looked at her again, a genuine smile on his face. "Freeze? My dear, a heart as cold as mine has no fear of Ilia's wild, brazen ice."

He watched her unpack her bedroll. It was as if she was a walking inn. These were not ordinary traveling rolls, he knew that much. Was this girl rich? Renoir wondered how much he would be paid for this adventure, knowing by her belongings that she was probably a woman of great coin. Renoir was caught off guard, though, as the woman disrobed and offered her coat. He was at a loss for words, which could not be seen in his expression, but was certainly true.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came for a moment. He was never lost for words. This was genuine charity. She wanted him to stay warm and was willing to sacrifice her own warmth, at some degree, to ensure his own. How quaint... No, it wasn't quaint, it was just compassionate. Something he was less used to. Once he finally spoke, he did so in a way that would've never revealed he was conflicted internally with this offer. His heart had been softened, and he knew it, though he wouldn't admit it.

"Please," he said with a smile, outstretching his hand to cover her hand and push the coat back towards her. "No proper guide would let his traveler suffer the cruel kisses of winter. Not on my watch, dear." He smiled at her, though this one was apparently more fake than his other had been. He was still a bit unsure how to respond to such genuineness as the kind he had been shown. "I'll be alright."

Before he had time to think about it any longer, his ears perked up. His blue eyes widened with curiosity, and he stared at Johanna. He was sure he'd heard the noise of an animal. A deer, maybe? Without any warning, he grabbed the woman's wrist and pulled her with him as he moved past her quickly and quietly.

He pulled the woman to the edge of the clearing on the other side, the edge of the cliff that overlooked a lower mountain pass, where small patches of grass and a tree or two could be seen. He knelt behind the only rock large enough to shield the both of them. He set his hand around the woman's head and pulled it close to his own, though he faced forward and held her head forward as well, so that her gaze might match up with his own.

"Look," the archer said softly, pointing carefully to a large deer nibbling on some grass about fifty meters away. It was totally unaware of the two, despite the woman's earlier loud voice. The deer was innocent and very pretty, minding its own business, eating away as the sky turned a deep blue as the sun set past the horizon. "These are the moments the gods ordained, you see," he said sweetly, his eyes still fixed on the animal, his hand still around her head. "It is holy and beautiful... A picture so dazzling and exciting that we are left but breathless before its majesty. Do you see how it eats, totally untroubled by the weights of this cruel world?" His smile was genuine once more, excited by the animal. He was a hunter, but an artist at heart.

He let go of the woman's head, but didn't break his gaze.

[Johanna]

Well, you certainly couldn’t force someone to accept charity, Johanna thought as she held her coat to her chest, silently wishing he had just taken it from her. Folding the jacket, she placed it at the head of her rolled-out bedroll, deciding she’d use it as a pillow in lieu of simply resting her head on her hands as she’d planned. It didn’t make her feel any better about her guide simply sleeping atop his cloak; she resolved she’d try again to make the man take the jacket tomorrow night.

As soon as Johanna straightened back up, she noticed the man’s eyes seemed hyper focused on something, though they stared straight through her in a frightening way. “What?” She inquired in a lower voice than she’d used before, whipping her head around. “What is it, Renoi-”

Before she could finish, the man’s cool hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her behind him, nearly sweeping her feet from under her. Luckily Johanna had paid attention, only stumbling her first few steps before keeping with the man’s pace as he ran them behind a large stone that overlooked a small valley in the mountain. As soon as they stopped, crouched behind their natural wall, Renoir took Johanna’s head in his hands, guiding her gaze to what he wanted her to see. Instantly her face grew extremely warm, the woman sure a blush had colored her cheeks crimson red. She shivered, though she hoped the man would simply believe it was from the cold. She tried to focus her gaze on the sight he wished her to see, but it was as if her eyes failed her, unable to look anywhere but away as she grew very conscious of the lack of space between them.

Convincing herself to calm down, Johanna finally focused her gaze on the deer grazing less than a stone’s throw away from her. It was as if the animal had no idea they were there; the pair were being afforded a unique, unblemished look at the nature in the mountains. She wondered for a moment how he had known the deer was there, it having been so silent in its search for a snack. Did that mean he was a hunter of some sort? It didn’t explain why the man spoke with such flowery speech, even if it did explain his more attuned hearing.

No matter his profession, though, Johanna could appreciate the deer’s virgin beauty, as if she’d never seen a human in her life. It made Johanna want to approach her, run her hands over the deer’s toned body, feel how the sand-colored short haired coat felt beneath the pads of her fingers, look inside her black-tipped ears and touch a finger to the deer’s wet nose. It was for no reason other than pure curiosity; Johanna just wanted to know what it felt like, even if she knew she wouldn’t get to do those things.

A cool breeze caressing her cheek alerted her to the fact that Renoir had dropped his hand from her cheek, allowing her to look around as she pleased. But she kept her eyes trained on the deer, watching the way her mouth moved as she chewed, wondering if she might say in that place forever lest someone disturbed her. As if her thought had disturbed the animal, the deer suddenly perked up, freezing for a split second before bounding away.

Looking to Renoir as he watched the deer traipse away, Johanna thought she saw a glimpse of the man’s genuine smile once more, bringing one to her own lips. He was a true lover of nature, whatever it was he did; Johanna had to admit, she could use a bit more appreciation for the outdoors, at least more in line with how deep and ingrained it was in Renoir.

“So beautiful,” was all Johanna could say as she let her gaze drift back to the now empty valley, wondering how the grass stayed so green when it was so cold. After a silent moment, an appreciative ‘thank you’ slipped from her lips, followed quickly by a long, drawn out yawn. She was growing tired, and the cold had just begun nipping at her fingertips.

[Renoir]

Renoir kept a slight smile, giggling a bit, almost like a young girl flirting. "Relax," he said softly, smoothly. He could feel her tension, be it because of the cold or the surprise of the deer. It practically radiated from her body, which he felt most noticeably as she looked away for a mere few seconds before training her eyes, as well, upon the deer. It ate slowly, minding its own business, as if the grass it ate was its only worry. How perfectly wonderful, Renoir thought. What a life it must live.

He thought about taking his bow from his back. He had a clean shot. He could provide food. Even he, though, knew his limits-- to strike the deer would be to strike the gods. An unholy omen-- one he knew better than to bring upon himself. He sighed heavily as the woman began to shiver more, accepting the beauty of the situation. As she turned to look at him, he turned to her as well, the closeness becoming apparent to him as well, though he made no move to show it other than raising an eyebrow, as if a child were playing with a toy and he simply didn't understand. It wasn't that he was displeased with her; in fact, it was the opposite. He was intrigued by this woman.

After a moment, he turned back to the empty valley. The sky was growing totally dark, and he could see less now than he could when they first approached. It was likely time to prepare for bed, and thereby, prepare for Renoir's favorite time of the day-- nighttime, when he could watch the brilliance of the heavens unfold right before his eyes. And he knew this was the single best place to do it.

He wrapped his arm around the girl almost unaffectionately, feeling the shivers in her body through his hand. "Looks like it's time for you to warm up," he cooed, laughing a bit. He stood up, walking back over to where his cloak was lying on the ground. "Beautiful indeed. I thought I might shoot it. Beautiful moments are only such if they are fleeting, you know. If the mountains always looked this way, for example, their beauty fade, become part of the ordinary, mundane experience we call life. Alas," he sighed, sitting himself down on top of his cloak. It was virtually useless, but an expression of a bed nonetheless. "the deer robbed me of the chance by scampering away." he lied. He wouldn't have shot it. He knew he wouldn't have shot it. But it didn't matter. The moment was over, and could refract now, so that the next time they saw something, it could be beautiful once more.

[Johanna]

Early the next morning..

Johanna did her best to get some rest for their next day’s travel, but after such an unusual and engaging day, she only found rest for an hour or so at a time. Most of the dark night she’d laid awake, either staring at the night sky above and the majesty of the stars, or ducking into her bedroll and trying to quietly scribble a note or two into one of her journals despite the lack of light. Just like the night previous, there was just so much running through the woman’s head that sleep seemed like a hindrance for any longer than she had to entertain it.

While still dark, a burnt orange tint had begun to stain the bottom of the sky, meaning it was nearly time for the sun to usher in the new day. An hour or so earlier Johanna had slipped from her bedroll, putting her jacket on over her shoulders and creeping to the very edge of the cliff. Sitting with her legs hanging over the side, her eyes were trained on the sky, not wanting to miss the glory of the morning sun.

What she knew she was missing, though, was just about everything that had to do with her guide. The words he spoke were always so poignant, ever observant, but they were only that. They gave her little insight into who he was, where he was from, what he was really like when he wasn’t guarded. She’d gotten glimpses throughout the day, but it made her want to know more. Johanna determine today she would find a way to learn one new, substantial thing about him; it would be hard, what with him being Ilian and, well, virtually all Ilian’s being so closed off to talking about themselves, but she had to try - she was too intrigued not to.

Her journal sitting on her lap, the woman opened the pages delicately, her eyes glancing over the outlined she’d made but two nights previous. She wondered if the woman in her new tale would feel the same as she when Renoir’s hand had touched her face, guiding her gaze to look on the beauty of the Ilian mountains, despite the negativity its people had inflicted on the Bernese. Was that what it felt like to have a lover’s hand caress your cheek? Embarrassment? Excited anxiousness? Whatever it was, the memory had impressed itself in Johanna’s mind, enough that she considered including something similar in the new serial. The piece of graphite in her hand, she scribbled what she remembered so she would not forget - as if she could have.

[Renoir]

"A writer, hm?" Renoir asked, with a tone that almost teased, but was just kind enough to indicate curiosity instead of something more rude.

He was sitting up over his cloak, his arm stretched over his knee, leaning against his open hand as it felt the earth. His night had been fine-- full of deep, wonderful sleep, but no dreams. His eyes had closed as slowly as they had opened. He was fortunate, realizing now that he hadn't quite missed the sunrise, and for that he was thankful. He wondered, as he watched Johanna, how early the woman had gotten up. Normally, any noise, be it loud or quiet, would awaken him-- yet hers did not. She must've slipped out, like a mouse scurrying quietly across the floor. He was somewhat displeased with himself for being unable to detect her, but it made him curious. Perhaps she knew how to train her steps, much like he did.

Renoir let out a loud, wide yawn, wiping some sleep from his blue eyes as he moved them between the woman, whose back was to him, and the brilliant sun as it began to peek out from behind the mountain in the distance. It couldn't be any later than five or six hours past midnight. How early, the man though, and yet... he wasn't quite displeased with it.

Finally, he stood, gently brushing his shoulders off. He picked his cloak up from the ground and shook it out, watching the sun while he did. It was so brilliant, almost lurid, and full of life. Perhaps it was indicative of the type of day the two would have. Donning his cloak again but keeping the hood lowered, Renoir walked over to the woman, avoiding looking at her, keeping his eyes trained on the sun. He stood behind her, declining to sit, and enjoyed the view. "Is this not itself enough to live for?" he asked in a sweet, smooth jest, appreciative of the beauty that lie before him, both in the woman and in the sky.

He turned away a moment, so that their backs were to each other. He looked around at the trees on the far side of the clearing, and then the mountain pass below them, set the way they needed to continue. "Breakfast, my love?"

[Johanna]

Johanna jumped as soon as the man’s sweet voice broke the relative silence of the morning, and she instinctively slammed her journal shut. Somehow she felt as if she was in front of a hearth, so warm now that she could have taken her coat off and been fine. She held no shame in her craft, but the last thing she wanted to do was have to explain to a total stranger her profession. Considering how Hanne Clark being a woman could taint his future serials’ reputation, though, Johanna didn’t really find it good passing conversation to partake in.

But she didn’t want to seem guilty, which her quick slam of the journal seemed to admit, so Johanna laughed, bringing a hand to her chest as she turned to look back at the man. “I didn’t realize you were awake!” She exclaimed, turning back towards the valley below and setting the worn leather journal to the side. “Just writing a few letters is all; it’s so much nicer to do by the light of the rising sun than candlelight in a tavern.” Johanna didn’t like lying, but it was white as any she’d told in the past.

Closing her eyes, Johanna smiled as she enjoyed the light morning breeze for a moment. She didn’t think there was fresher, crisper air in the world to breathe in, and the woman felt blessed to have been afforded the opportunity to fill her lungs with the pure mountain air. There wasn’t a place in the world she’d rather be at that very moment; she wished there could be a way for her to stay on the cliff’s ledge forever, encapsulate this moment and bring it with wherever she went.

The man’s voice again permeating the morning air, Johanna opened her eyes, turning her gaze up towards the man standing over her. His eyes seemed so focused as he looked over the dawning sun; it was not hard to see there was a hunter behind those eyes, especially after their moment with the deer the night previous. Johanna had been mildly upset, the way he’d spoken about shooting the deer, but through her sleepless night she’d convinced herself it was simply the way of life for the man, as it was or so many others. It was not right for her to judge him for something so many did to survive.

Again a flush filled her cheeks as the man endearingly inquired on a morning meal. “That sounds wonderful,” the woman replied, extending her arms out as she stretched. “What did you have in mind? I think I have some dried fruits, jerky, and a handful of rolls…”

[Renoir]

As Johanna stumbled around, appearing obviously shocked, Renoir couldn't help but offer a wry smile as he looked down at her, slamming her book shut and appearing flushed, as if her comment had made her hot and embarrassed that she had been seen writing, of all things. He turned back away from her and put a hand on his hip, looking up to study the sky away from the sun, where his vision was less obstructed by sunlight. The few clouds in the sky were beautiful, and didn't warn of rain; they did, however, suggest that they might have some shade on their journey, which would be a blessing, Renoir thought. He could handle being cold, but he hated being hot. It was his least favorite sensation.

"Yes," he said flatly. He didn't believe her in the slightest. She wasn't good at hiding her intentions, and he knew that. He didn't care enough at the moment to pry, but he was a little curious; she didn't seem the criminal type, but letter-writers didn't turn tail at the first sign of someone asking what they were doing. Unlike him, this woman seemed fairly easy to read. It seemed boring, Renoir thought, but maybe not. Maybe it wouldn't be. Time would tell. "it's always fun to write letters. After all, we are in such a good location for you to send them, you know." he mocked her, a coy but poisonous tone in his voice. She was a terrible liar. No one wrote letters while traveling; where could they be delivered? They were traveling through wilderness. But no matter.

Renoir put both hands on his hips, surveying the situation. They should probably eat while they moved, to save time, and because the more daylight they had the better. He turned back to her, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, and addressed her. "Eat until you're full, darling," the honey dripped from his voice, and he turned towards their path. "I much prefer the fruit of the trees. In any case, we ought to be off now, lest we lose our daylight. Come." He stepped down the path, having collected all of his things--which, to be fair, included exclusively a cloak-- and walked slowly, anticipating her catching up. This roadside conversation would be a good one, he mused in his head.

[Johanna]

Her face formed a scowl as he questioned her so openly about her reason for writing as she had been doing. Maybe she couldn’t have waited to write what she saw, tell whomever she was penning, aka Hank, about the beauty of the mountains exactly as she was seeing them in that moment. Sure, those were untrue thoughts, but this man didn’t know that. Who was he to judge where the right place to write a letter was? He clearly didn’t have anyone back home to write to.

The thought of that made her unhappy, though, so instead of biting back, Johanna stood back up on the edge of the cliff, walking her journal and herself over to her pack and sliding the scratched book into the pack before rolling up her bedroll, buckling it onto the bottom of the pack. All the while she listened to her guide as he beckoned them forward, though she was more intrigued by something else he’d said.

Not pulling any of the rations she had from her pack, Johanna slung the pack over her shoulders as she scurried up behind Renoir. “Well I don’t want to be left out of a fresh breakfast!” The woman exclaimed, her hands gripping the straps on the small pack as she walked beside the hunter. “Tell me, what kinds of fruits grow here? You seem to be the nature expert.” She actually knew quite a bit about the types of flora that bloomed in the mountains here - granted, all through the books she read in the convent. Still, Johanna asked because she wanted to hear what someone with experience had to say about what greens and sweet fruit flesh graced these hills.

Besides, she also needed to find something to get him talking, even if it was about nothing. Prying produced nothing if done right away, after all - Johanna knew that all too well.

[Renoir]

Renoir smirked, raising an eyebrow in addition as the woman hurried up to walk next to him. She was a curious little thing, he could tell that much. He quite enjoyed it. While she seemed a bit secretive at times, he was secretive most times, so that was fine. He had no qualms with her as his traveling companion-- he'd done these sorts of escort missions before, and had had worse luck in the past. She didn't seem the type to be intent on getting on his nerves, or the type to be rude. She had proven herself a friendly and sociable person, with a clear affinity for the finer points of beauty in the world, which he also greatly appreciated.

He did, however, so love teasing her.

Watching her react in such a way when asking about her journal had done nothing but spur this interest in him, and he made a mental note to attempt to push some more of her buttons when he saw the opportunity. The poor girl was so sweet and naive, he figured, that she was far too fun to leave alone. Renoir, unfortunately or fortunately, had always been able to have fun at other people's expense-- typically benign, but not always. As the two walked forward, he thought about how he would snatch her journal and read it when she was away. Maybe he could read a page from it to her aloud. He thought that might make her flustered. The thought made his smirk grow wider.

"Well well, suddenly your packed goods lose their allure, hm?" He looked over at her, the side-eye meeting her eyes as she happily exclaimed that she would prefer fresh fruit, and wanted to know what grew here. He could show her. They were in any area rife with bush cherries, which withstood the winter well, unlike their tree counterparts, and there were probably a fair amount of apples in the area. He chuckled a little as she called him the nature expert, and looked at her with his full face, finally, offering a genuine smile.

He grabbed her wrist again, more gently this time, and pulled her slowly into a clearing off the beaten path; it was small, being down the mountain, but a large enough grove that some bushes and trees had rooted themselves there. As he held her wrist closely, Renoir scanned the area quickly and efficiently. "Nature expert, I don't know," he mused, bringing a finger to rest at his lips, as if he were asking for silence while he thought. "But I do know my fair share about good fruit, love of mine." He pulled her along into the grove and knelt down beside a bush dotted with red, and rustled the leaves. He picked a fruit from it, looked at the woman, and popped it in his mouth.

Soon after, he spit a pit onto the ground, then winked at her. "Bush cherries," he said sweetly. "And on the other side," he nodded towards a tree, "apples. You have the glorious, taken-for-granted privilege of choice."