Raylin Chike

He didn't dismiss her when she sat down, her bright smile curling on her lips as she speaks to the stranger, again, pushing that stray strand of hair behind her ear once more. Her eyes sparkle with delight when he responds, those very words tinged with an accent! And not a southern accent for a change, as those French words fall so very beautifully from his lips, "I have a feeling you could take all three of them with one arm tied behind your back," she laughs quietly, the woman hardly trying to please the man, it was merely an observation. Faerie, disappearing glass, she had a sneaking suspicion he had far more magic up his sleeve than she had ever witnessed before. "French?" She asks, curiosity dancing in her eyes as she notes the sunglasses he had pushed atop his head. Her eyes hardly linger long as they return to the stranger's face, handsome, she realized after a moment, and not just because of the accent. His mass of dark hair and the beard that lined his jawline, it was the most natural handsomeness she had seen in a man in... ever.

She blinks the thought away as she tells him she would've had to chase the men out with her bat. She wasn't lying, there was a well used bat that hung out just beneath the bar. One of her coworkers had actually carved her name into it because she used it so often. It had been officially dubbed, "Ray's Bat" and even some of the regulars knew about it. "You probably could have filled that glass of beer up with bud light and they wouldn't have noticed the difference," she snorted in amusement, "but you're right, those three are easily some of the most arrogant pricks I've ever had to deal with here," she sighs, but hardly let's herself dampen the mood as the stranger, Matteo, introduces himself, his hand reaching across the table. She grasps it, her hand dry and warm as she grips his hand back, "Raylin, but everyone calls me Ray," her smile falters as Matteo turns her hand over and raises it to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back of her hand.

It takes her only a moment to realize what he's doing and as his lips brush across her skin, she laughs, "Well aren't you the gentleman," she crows with delight as she withdraws her hand. "Nice to meet you too, Matteo," she tilts her head slightly, her eyes dancing. "The French must be very proper," she says, hardly realizing just how very old he was, merely chalking it up to the different cultures. She settles back into her own chair, watching Matteo do the same as he leans against the window, Raylin ready to inquire just how he managed to spirit away that disgusting concoction but he beats her to it, his accented words taking a moment to process. Her smile falters again, eyes becoming tight as she listens to him. It takes everything in her power to not reach up and trace that very scar that marred her neck, she usually got inquiries on what happened, Ray typically deflecting with a story or sharing a partial truth. The only person who really knew what happened that night was Brennan, she hadn't spoken to anyone else about it, mostly because she couldn't stand the thought of remembering that night.

Ray represses a shudder that threatens to trail down her spine as she notes the faerie's eyes on her neck. "I didn't know that's what they are called," she says after a moment, having to look away from Matteo briefly, her hazel eyes glancing through the window. "We, uh, ran into each other twice, honestly, I should have died the first time I encountered him," she sighs, unable to help herself as her delicate fingers reach up and trace that ragged scar, before forcing her hand to drop back to the table. Her gaze returns to his features, her smile having vanished, "And the second time... well, both times it was just dumb luck. To be honest, sometimes humanity should be underestimated," she attempts the joke, a weak smile trying to stretch on her lips before dying. Those memories from years ago come swirling back into her mind, haunting her for the briefest of moments before she shoves them away, locking them in a box, repressing them. She knew she needed to talk to someone about it, she hadn't exactly dealt with the situation or the trauma that came with such things and yet, she still couldn't bring herself to talk about it. Not really.

Clearing her throat, she attempts another smile, this one lingering on her lips longer, though her face remains tight, "So, fancy faerie, how did you end up in this dive bar? We don't often get many patrons like yourself over here." A thoughtful look crosses her features for a moment before she tilts her head slightly, that strand of hair falling from behind her ear and dangling in her face once more, "Also, what does 'Mon Cherie' mean?" She asks, mimicking his words and the accent, terribly.