The weeks in Africa had been two weeks too long and as hot as surface of the center of the sun. Heat scorched days, dry and dusty and thick nights; both full of activities mundane and tiresome, that Davante felt something nagging him. He had left the United States for only a brief period, and with a lack of dire circumstances which was quite typically the case. Instead of being plagued with the situation at hand in his home country, Davante found himself scrutinizing his past actions for a reason why he pursue the young witch that had been a regular in his thoughts. Serafina had proved a worthy companion on so many different occasions with the versatility of a chameleon and the wherewithal to tell the warlock off. The way she had commanded him effortlessly without actually utilizing any power. She had ordered him to sit for her to heal him, and he had been able to find no reason not to listen to her. And that? That was a spectacular feat. Davante had debated what to initiate with her â€" no, it was a matter of when. Should he have said something before leaving for Africa? Davante had ultimately opted to truly pursuing the witch when he had returned for some form of continuity.

Standing in front of her door, found himself leaning against the railing to looking at the sky for a few moments. It was clearer in Africa, but the stars blanketing this sky felt like home. They had seen a thousand of his days, horrific or filled with a sunshine so bright even mother nature would have been jealous. It felt like remembering they see everything, they've been everywhere with you and enough company with the stars and night sky you feel as if you could be the person you were before the world told you who you should be. They'd seen the last time Davante was inwardly a little anxious, young man on the doorstep of a beautiful woman who he was secretly aching to see. And now? Davante looked away from the sky when the door opened, but not without feeling like the same innocent young man who had already fallen in love with a woman before he knew it.

Serafina's gaze bound to Davante's for a long moment, moving to debate the scenario in front of her. He wasn't surprised that he had received an accusing, pointed look before the witch spoke. He had only given her cause to think him trouble, but Davante was determined to solve that dilemma. His arms were lazily crossed over his chest; the way he leaned against the side of the railing exuded patience and good humor.

"I'll have you know I am not clumsy, so that form of breaking myself is out of the question."

As the woman spoke, Davante's lips draw into a very slow, appreciative smile. If he was here to kill his date, there would have been a little bit more violence with what he would do to her. With the jab, Davante cringed inwardly as he would have liked to reply with a harsher tone, but the patience? For once, it remained in excess and he nodded as if in dysphoric agreement with her.

"You aren't dead and you aren't hurt, waiting for me," He said slowly. There was evidently nothing that kept her off of the identity of his date. Could she play deductive reasoning? With a very gently sigh, Davante stood up while unfolding his arm. With the envelope sealed and addressed to the woman, he offered it to her before focusing his attention on the seed in this other hand. It was very easy to coax the seed to grow, grow, and grow quickly into a deep, plum colored rose which he spun in his fingers once. When he looked up to Serafina with the rose gently tilted towards her, his eyes were sparkling impishly and embellished by a Cheshire grin.

"That is no way to greet your date, Serafina," Davante mused. "I believe the polite thing to say is: Hello! It's nice to see you, do come in!" If she opened the card, which was an invitation to an establishment in Paris with what was obviously a reservation time. "Because it is really good to see you again," He added a little quieter/