The gentle sound of that giggle could warm even the coldest of hearts he was sure. It lingered in the air even after it was long gone. His dark shadowy purple eyes met her own, they seemed so fearless, and warm. He was inwardly glad that the vampire trauma hadn't marred her completely, even though it would have served her well to be a little extra cautious. Yet he could not deny she was a woman that was made for the daylight. Such a contrast to his own, the hunter meant for the shadows of night. A path that certainly set them apart. Or so he told.. And yet why was it that he seemed unable to just let her be. She would have probably been better for it. Yet she ensnared him... like nothing else had ever done before. Maybe it was their powers that called to each other in some strange way... light and dark were the very epitome of balance after all. He hardly took the time to consider it fully. Not when he so desperately tried not to fumble through this even as his curious shadows seem to reach toward her, a whisper of a call to the light that danced within her, especially with her so close..

The question was wholly a curious one. Just how much had she been practicing on her own? She seemed to pull away all at once, the immediacy of it felt almost like a shock on his system. His shadows that had been once reaching by a nature of their own curled back into itself and receded away. He pushed away those unusual sensations, still curious of the way she moves, the pout on her lips when she... attempted to answer him within that nearly slippery way. As though he would buy it. She may have practiced keeping her own powers still... controlled... and yet she had not practiced wielding them. Interesting. "In other words, you haven't.." His voice is like those shadows he wields, dark and yet appear almost tangible.

He felt the need to close that distance she had created between them and yet he remained, content to watch her, safely from where he stood.. "You know... you can always... ask for help." He offered, knowing the sheer amount of discipline and time he had funneled into his own craft. Surely she could use a similar tactic.... Even if it was only intended to be used in defense.

He slowly became all too aware of the flowers within his palms behind his back, his palms had never been clammy before... and yet he could feel it now. He was all too aware that he might have made a mistake. Perhaps.... Flowers were the wrong way to go. He was certainly like a fish out of water when it came to women... and he was sure that this was what you were supposed to do. Women loved flowers and gifts.. The ads on billboards certainly made it seem that way.

He was certain. Well, perhaps as much as it could be. He suddenly reveals the bouquet he had chosen with care almost regretting that moment the moment that he did. He was not this man. He was not flowers and chocolate... and shy glances. Yet somehow, here he was a damn mess of nerves before the petite ballerina before him. He could stare down the biggest bad in the city without so much as a twitch and here he was.... now nervous as a schoolboy asking a girl to a dance. His hand seemed suspended... waiting for her to take them and every aching second she didn't..... Were close to unbearable. She didn't move at first... why didn't she take them? She was simply standing there. Oh he had fucked up.

That was when that accented french lilt escaped her once more and she nearly stopped herself from speaking that fluent french. He observed her curiously, that reaction with the same astuteness as he read those meant to do him harm... and yet the poor girl almost seemed... flustered. Her? There was something endearing about the way she almost seemed to admire those flowers, or the way she tenderly reached to take them from his waiting hand. He almost began to over talk, those garbled words flooding his mouth all at once. What the fuck was wrong with him. He nearly shook his head at himself. Pull yourself together. She is only a woman... a beautiful... woman. "I'm glad you like them." He offered lamely, his hands finding their way back to his sides, one slipping into his jacket pocket, toying with the keys inside of them, contemplating the question he had planned... for far too long burning a hole in his mind.

"Do you have anywhere to be?" He questions, taking a singular step forward into the light just a little more that it reflected within his shadowy gaze. He looked away... peering down the secluded alley where only they remained, some part of him would always be aware of their surroundings. What was with them and allies? He waits for her to respond.

"I'd like to take you for some food or ice cream or something if you'd let me. I think the citizen's of Sacrosanct can survive without me.... For one night. If you'll have me." He didn't mention the fact that the hunter was.... Starving. He hadn't eaten before the show, not willing to miss the flower shop closing. No, nerves certainly had nothing to do with it. Certainly it wasn't one... tiny, harmless fae that would not make some big bad hunter unable to eat. Oh what would Alistair think of him now? Floundering like he was when he was supposed to be the man to ensure he..... Adjusted and thrived within this new life.

"Unless.. Miraculously, you need saving again." His attempt at a jest saw to his usually hardened jaw to ease, his lips curling into a near boyish grin. Even though he knew all too well, there wouldn't be a damn fool to cross his path intentionally now.