"Hi," the intruder repeats, breathless. They hold her wrist in an even tighter grasp when she tries to remove it — which is sensible of them, really. Their hands are startlingly cold though, and it's making her feel uncomfortable at the stark difference in their body temperatures. See, Fionera tended to run hot almost all the time, and one would think that a reprieve from that heat would feel, you know, nice. But in reality it hurts. The difference is way too stark to be anything less than painful, and Fionera has to push down the urge to vomit.

"I would really appreciate it if you—" Fionera interrupts them by punching them in their thigh with her free hand. She'd noticed it was wounded almost as soon as they'd broken in— the blood was hard to hide from her nose. The wound also looked fresh—smelled fresh, too—so she knew it would be more than sore if she irritated it. And going by the hiss of pain they let out, she was right.

They grit their teeth and their grip on her wrist tightens to the point that it hurts. "My name is Ast—"

"I know." Fionera interrupts yet again. This time verbally, because now that she's gotten a decent look at them... well. "I know who you are," she says and doesn't have the gall to be embarrassed about mistaking him for a fiend. 

Fionera narrows her eyes at him. "But I don't know why the hell you're in my room." She peers out the window to check that — yep. They're still on the third floor.

"How the fuc— how did you get up here?"

There were no trees nor any sort of secure footholds for anyone to grip onto if they suddenly decided to do some parkour up the side of the building; and despite the many ivy vines and various florae the grow up the sides of the dorm's outside walls, Fionera knew from first hand experience that they were anything but sturdy. The structures of all the buildings in the academy also ensured that no magic could affect its foundation, so there was no way he could've used any sort of alchemic propulsion or pure elemental magic.

"… I climbed."

What a load of shit, she thought, rolling her eyes at him before she gave him a proper lookover.

Astilon von Rougeir. It's a name she's heard almost every day of the week for the past 3yrs. He's always wrapped up in some sort of rumour that for even someone as reclusive as Fionera to have heard of says something about the power of his notoriety. 

His hair and unblemished skin are shockingly pale under the moonlight, and his eyes shine a vibrant purple that seems to richen every time he blinks. It bears a startling resemblance to the amethysts in the jewellery nobles are so fond of wearing, but it just makes Fionera feel uncomfortable the longer he continues to stare at her.

Astilon, or Prince Astil as she's heard most people call him, was not an albino. This new appearance of his is partly why she'd mistaken him for an intruder, but he's lucky her eyes were sharp enough to recognise his features that made her stop attacking in time. If she'd followed through with leaning her hand forward, then a thin line of blood on the side of his neck would've been the least of his problems.

From what she knew of him and saw in the halls when they happened to pass one another; his hair was a deep brown that was almost always mistaken for black. His eyes were light enough for his pupil to be visible, but still a shade of brown that was way less startling than this one of purple he now wears.

"Are you really Astil?" She had a hard time believing it. Fionera knows that anyone who was actually clever and talented enough to imitate his features would have more than enough smarts to not admit that they were, in fact, a fake. So she doesn't fully understand why she even asks this.

He nods, finally lets her go, and keeps silent. From what she knows of him, he prefers it that way — quiet. Although in this situation that could just be because he doesn't want to alert anyone else of his presence.

Fionera watches with peeled eyes as he leans against her windowsill. It's still wide open and there's a draft breezing in, but she can't bring herself to get Astil to close it just yet. His eyes close and for that split second, the image is stunning.

With his silhouette doused in the moonlight, it gave the illusion as if he could fade into the night and she would be none the wiser. But the longer she stares at him, the easier it is to knock herself out of the trance.

Another breeze picks up and brushes into the room, bringing with it a scent that Fionera had never bothered to pay attention to before now.

The blood on him, the one not from the wound she caused — it doesn't smell like anything remotely human. Fionera can't identify just where or what it comes from and that's slightly worrying.

"—You trust me this much?" She blurts out, and will forever deny that the silence between the two had made her uncomfortable. "To not push you out the window...?" Fionera trails off unsurely.

What the hell was she saying? It wasn't a case of trust but that he obviously didn't see her as a threat!

Just take a look at his relaxed stance!

"Would you?" Astil shoots back and crosses his arms. "Because I doubt you could even move me an inch." He doesn't laugh, for all that the smirk on his face tells Fionera he wants to. She's glad he doesn't though, because she's already feeling competitively offended enough that she would attempt murder if he so much as giggled.

Instead, pushing away her thoughts of maiming him, she smirks. Somewhat. It comes out more as a sneer and shows more teeth than necessary. His expression falters then, and Fionera nearly cackles.

"I don't need to be able to move you to do serious damage." She states. Her eyes fell to his neck and she jutted her chin at the wound there. "I caused that, didn't I?"

Honestly speaking, she probably could give him a run for his money, but for the years she's slacked in her training, all she's got to show is a front of strength that could easily be brushed off as a burst of adrenaline. 

It's… a little embarrassing.

He just raises an eyebrow at her which causes her hackles to rise for some unknown reason. The look in his eyes wasn't quite predatory, and even then, she wasn't the kind of person to back down from a challenge. But despite not knowing him on a more personal level, there was something about this look that didn't fit with the rest of him. He had an aura about him that was never there before, and belatedly, Fionera realises that this is what could possibly be the source of that weird scent he carries with him.

Whatever power he's packing behind those firm muscles and confident smirk — it's dangerous. Fionera once again reminds herself to be cautious.

"What are you doing here?" She asks again, but this time she's more curious than anything else. Out of all the people he could've gone to for help or some kind of assistance, he had instead come to her? As if they'd interacted with one another more than just a nod in acknowledgement when they passed in the halls?

It was so bizarre for him to seek her out that Fionera was—shit—she was a little bit worried.

If he was even Astil, that is.

At the reminder that he still hadn't done anything to prove his identity, she narrows her eyes.

"I," he starts and subtly shifts away from the window when it looks like the fight in Fionera's eyes hasn't dimmed but intensified. "I need your help."

"What." Sure, it was something Fionera had guessed to be the case, but having him actually say it was a whole different thing she wasn't all too prepared for.

"Me?" She points to her chest. "Me, a lowly peasant, help you—" her finger rudely points at his stunned face, "—the third goddamn 'prince' of the fuckin' Yulté kingdom?"

Yeah, she probably could have phrased that a bit better so it didn't sound like she was preaching blasphemy or something, but — damn! It was just so ridiculous that she couldn't stop her mouth from running off!

"You're not lowly!" He rushed to deny, and Fionera felt both of her eyebrows raise in disbelief. Out of all she'd said — that was what he chose to focus on?

"Huh." She grins, stepping closer to him as she goes to finally close her window. After the window is firmly shut, she pulls out the chair resting snug in the cove of her desk before she walks past him again to go and sit on the edge of her bed.

Her suspicion of him hadn't gone completely, but if she wanted him to reveal anything—a tell, an inconsistency—then it was better if she first pretended to trust him and played along.

That and the simple chair at her desk was one of her newer prototypes that she hadn't gotten around to testing yet.

Fionera crossed her legs, rested her chin on  her palm and inclined her head towards the vacant chair for him to take a seat.

He regards her suspiciously before he accepts her invitation. Even sitting down in the chair, he cut an intimidating figure with his broad shoulders and muscled thighs that spoke of their strength if the way they splayed over the chair was anything to go by.

Upon seeing him get comfortable and showing no immediate outward reaction, Fionera says, "Let's hear your request then, your highness." And what ends up spilling forth from his lips is probably the most ridiculous thing she's heard of in her entire stay at the academy.