While the fiery woman didn't exactly have the stereotypical look of a so-called bookworm or the ever reputation-ruining nerd or teacher's pet, and she honestly wasn't anywhere near tame enough to be any of these types, there was no shame to be found within her regarding where it was those ever-present and keen curiosities more often than not led her to various bookstores. There was always something new and exciting to be discovered, and though she would more readily run into a promising adventure outside those dusty and scuffed wooden shelves crammed far too closely together for just about anyone's comfort, Lenore wasn't too picky with where she might go to entertain herself. She took an almost wicked satisfaction in disproving the theories of her observers, defying the judgments passed by wandering eyes which knew absolutely nothing about her. It was almost a game to the her, trying to figure out what others saw her as and seeing how she might go about making them feel foolish. Maybe it was simply the defiant and very much rebellious flames which burned so brightly from her very core only to often flicker across molten milk chocolate eyes that had her taking a strange sense of enjoyment in being the black sheep among the herd people tried to place her in. Being the fiery creature that she was, Lenore hardly took well to someone making an assumption of who she was or what she might be like when they didn't even take the time to try and get to know her. And so, when their eyes would widen as they watched their predictions on her character shatter, there were little words to fully justify the pleasure she got from shocking those around her. It was too easy for so many to just cast a simple glance over the woman with long locks of rich dark cocoa and think she was shallow for the fact that she took pride in her natural beauty. Wasting little time and money on makeup, she only ever wore what she considered essentials, though it was easy enough for her to go without should it be required. Or she was simply not feeling up to spending much time in her bathroom. Mascara, eyeliner, and favored rosewood lipstick was all that she bothered herself with, even on those nights where she and her sister would go out to some dance club or if she was going out to dinner with some guy she'd managed to capture the attention of. And yet, the woman was far from oblivious to those sideways glances from people who thought she was too pretty to be anything but a shallow gold digger or preppy cheerleader. These were on the top of her list when it came to opinions she hated most. Just because she cared about her appearance didn't mean she was some stuck-up and snooty bitch. But, if they wanted to play the "bitch" card, that one she could easily do if given a reason to be one.

Another of her personal favorites was when someone had the courage to underestimate her own wit simply because she had a pretty face and dark eyes capable of so much more than anyone outside her small circle knew of. This was always especially amusing - or frustrating, depending entirely on her mood of course - and often brought out the more devilish side to her that so many never seemed to see in her. It was like the world didn't seem to think someone could be both beautiful and intelligent, believing that such a being was about as rare and mystifying as a unicorn or something, just like they would always assume that the quiet ones were weaker and easier to manipulate. She often wonders how it was that people could carry such critical opinions of a person they see across the street or sitting in the diner booth behind them. There were few and far instances in between where the world would peg her for someone with a genuine heart or warmth, but only those who could manage to walk through the flames of her spirited side would be rewarded with a glimpse to those gentler, sweeter parts of Lenore. Perhaps it was a guard, a wall of sorts that the woman placed between herself and the world so willing to take a fleeting look and draw its own image of her. Like there was only one thing she was capable of being, when in fact there were more layers to her than ninety-nine percent of the people she's had both the pleasure and displeasure of coming across through her years could even imagine. She's heard just about everything under the sun, from "cold" or "conceited", touching only barely on "reckless" or skirting around "troublemaker", and all the way to the other side of the spectrum where labels like "introvert" or "antisocial" were considered to somehow be accurate in some way when talking about the dark-haired woman. What she was hardly ever called was timid or quiet, though this was for good reason, because of the many unpredictable and often ever-changing moods the woman was prone to expressing on any given day depending on a small handful of variables, these were things that could not be further from describing Lenore. These would be the terribly rare moments where the world was actually right, but for the wrong reasons. Surprisingly enough, there have been days, so few to the point that she could count them on only one hand, where someone would catch her so ensnared in whatever it was she occupied herself with that they truly believed she was quiet or uncertain. But, what happened far less was when a complete and total stranger would see something real about her and actually not misinterpret it. There have been times when she been referred to as "spirited" or "adventurous", and it would be these moments where Lenore couldn't help but be surprised at. However, that surprise would never linger for long, knowing entirely well that even these beings who did not underestimate her still knew so little of the person she was as a whole. Lenore was never among these people so quick to think they knew someone or understood something when they didn't. It was almost a shame, how effortless it was for anyone to place a label on someone or something they didn't understand. Lenore was hardly ever among these individuals, if anything only ever driven to explore what could be so easily overlooked or dismissed. If there was one thing that she knew simply by being herself, it was that things were hardly ever what they seemed at a mere glance.

Surprised though far from shaken by the unexpected presence of another standing in the same spot she'd been at perhaps only a few moments ago, she can hardly help noticing those unusual eyes when the man twists around to face her after his own hushed hiss coerced from the impact he also had not been prepared for. She hadn't seen eyes quite like his before, molten milk chocolate unwavering for that fleeting moment before they rove over his undeniably well-built physique and return back to those eyes of blue with striking silver bleeding throughout. What were the odds that she would literally bump into her first stranger here in Sacrosanct and have that very individual be a rather roguish man? That was almost always her luck, sadly. Although she was typically much more aware of her surroundings, on those days where she wasn't, she seemed to have a way with running into some of the more interesting people. Kerim beinf a perfect example of that, though she hadn't literally crashed into him. It made her look like n ditz, which she hated, but normally it was easy to simply appreciate a handsome stranger and resume the rest of her day without so much as missings a beat, unfazed and unbothered. But, none of them have ever had eyes like this man's, and it is hard for her not to feel that subtle flicker of intrigue towards him brush against her mind. She could say with certainty After her brief once-over of the man, she wonders if his choice in searching might have anything to say about him. While he didn't exactly look like the type she would have expected to see in this clearly neglected corner of the bookstore, the few other meandering souls weaving through those more commonly traveled sections like mystery or science fiction, Lenore knows far better than to think that a guy like him couldn't possibly be interested in these crumbling pieces of unknown unexplored knowledge. It would make sense if he was a warlock, but he could just as easily he human... right? Lenore doesn't miss the way those eyes of his trail along her own slender figure, and yet she neither grows modest or irritated with his brief and shameless interest. Tenor tones greet the woman then, smooth and accented in a way that many women might have fawned over, but not Lenore. Admittedly, she couldn't say that a small part of her didn't like the sound of his voice, but it was what he said that has a coy smile dancing across her own lips in wordless reply to his wry simper, mocha depths smoldering boldly."Aren't you just charming", she says then, her own silken voice equally as daring as her gaze in reply to how he so chose to address her, a tinge of sarcasm draped over her words. That was definitely a first for her, being called "little bird". Or graceful. Neither of which she would even consider herself to be. Who even talks like that anymore? Seeing the mischeif in his own expression only seems to encourage the woman more than capable of rising up to the unspoken challenge that even he might not realize he's engaged her in."Better be careful. Though I be but 'little', I am fierce", she practically purrs up to him, that coy expression shifting into one more devilish. What was his game here? Frankly, she had fully expected him to just grimace and tell her to watch where she was going or something of the unfriendly sort, but that was not what had happened. It only had her curiosity growing toward what rested behind those unusual eyes and subtly amused expression as he regards her, the man's own conquest of wrinkled and worn paper etched in aged ink seeming to be forgotten for the smallest fragment in time just as her own had been.

His next words are in the shape of a question then, and as he dares to direct her toward the shelves heavy with love stories of the tragic, humorous, or heartwarming sorts, those flames within her molten milk chocolate gaze flicker and burn brightly. Did he really go there just now, making an assumption that because she was a woman meant she might not have even the slightest interest in other subjects which were just waiting to be explored? Well, if that was the game that he wanted to play at, the fortunate for him that Lenore was willing to go along with it for a moment."Wouldn't you like to know", she replies tauntingly, that impish smile hardly faltering from her lips. Was he trying to get a rise out of the woman with such a... sexist remark? If so, he was going to have to do better than that. Lenore's heard them all, so s little jab at her choice of literature only earned him a flutter of perfectly dressed lashes over mocha hues."That's a rather bold assumption to be making, wouldn't you say?", she asks daringly, moving around the man, though not without allowing her eyes to rove over him for another moment before looking away from him altogether and back to the dusty, old books once more. Seeing the empty space where her previous selection had been taken from four shelves down, Lenore easily reaching for the book next to it with a similar title in reference to potions and the like, golden lettering etched into the hard front cover. Hopefully this one would be a little more like what she was searching for."Besides, I could ask you the same question. Isn't Fantasy on the other side?", she teases effortlessly in return as she glances over to man before lowering her gaze to the book in her hands, clearly referring to the leather jacket he wore when the weather was far from justifying such attire, her own hoodie more than enough to keep her content bordering on the line of becoming a touch too warm. It looked good on him, suited him even in a strange way, but all the same it wasn't exactly the style most were wearing these days. She lingers there rather than moving back over to the chair and small table at the front of the bookstore just yet, wanting to ensure that this was more like what she was wanting to take back to Reiko when the young witch arrived. She finds the words within this one a bit easier to understand, the language primarily old english though certainly able to be deciphered by the dark-haired woman who has always enjoyed the more medieval readings from her AP english class in high school and literature prerequisites in college. If anything, she was certain that Kerim might be able to identify the parts that seemed written in latin or some other language, or maybe even Reiko herself would be able to. Regardless, Lenore was certain she would be taking at least these two home. It was as the man hisses under his breath that she finds herself wondering who exsctly he calling a bastard. The books or the keeper of the bookstore? Or perhaps someone - or something - else entirely..."Wrong section after all?", she asks nonchalantly, that impish smile still remaining on her lips, doubting that he had intended for her to hear his obviously frustrated cursing, but if that was the case then he should have not said it aloud. She can still hear the other two people shifting through the aisles as they continued to look on in silence for whatever they sought, but dismissed them once more, her gaze not leaving those pages that are slightly stained from time and the fingers that have touched them, hardly needing her eyes to hear whatever her unexpected company might have to say next.