Dorran and Antonella

Dorran carefully wrapped a delicate silver mask with a rough cloth, and gently tucked it into a small sack. Sighing with satisfaction, he stood, stretching his legs. 14 masks wrapped and ready to go. He placed the small item in his sack with the other masks, and swung it around his shoulder. He looked up, shaking his hair out of his eyes, and watched the city-folk walk by for a few moments.

Dorran briefly met the eyes of a Halfling whose top half was completely covered by a cloak, and continued to give her an odd look as she passed. Why did she seem so nervous? He shook his head, gripping the sack behind him, and looked to his left. Imagining things, he told himself, suspecting innocent people of things again. This needed to stop.
After a moment of thoughtful consideration, he turned and began walking to the right. The Halfling was in front of him now. He began to tell himself that it was complete coincidence that he'd chosen to go that way, but gave up. He knew he'd gone this way out of curiosity. It wasn't every day one of these creatures passes through Everblossom. Or did they? He didn't know, but continued to follow her anyway. No, no, not follow. Travel. In the same direction.

Dorran stopped dead, his hand gripping his bag tightly as his knuckles slowly turned white. He immediately realized his stupidity, and promptly began cursing himself under his breath. He fought to keep his face smooth, emotionless. He casually looked around, his heart pounding. There was no way she was going to fall for this. He sighed, and slung the sack from his shoulder and gently set it on the ground. He stood, waiting for the yelling, or the angry lecture.

A gasp slipped from his lips, and his eyes widened. His eyes nervously scanned the back of the stranger, desperately hoping his suspicions were wrong. His mask felt hot as a light sweat began to build up behind it. Surely this wasn't the princess? The odds weren't in his favor. She looked as if she were, he'd just been to naive to notice it before. And her accent. "I--I'm sorry." he stammered. "I didn't know. I was just..." he trailed off, thinking. Stammering was stupid. He just needed to explain himself. Clearing his throat, he began again. "You cast a strange look in my direction as you passed my shop. Set me off, you know." He shuffled his feet. "I truly am sorry." He looked up apologetically, his fingers gripping his bag.

An easy smile slid onto his face. "Great. So you won't have my head chopped off?" He sighed an exaggerated sigh of relief and grabbed his bag. "I'm sorry I followed you anyway, Princess." He shook his long hair out of his eyes and continued to smile, bigger.

Dorran's dark eyes glittered thoughtfully. "No," he agreed. "I cannot possibly imagine what being a princess would be like. However, I would be perfectly willing to listen to you if you wanted to talk." He coughed. "If you wanted to, of course." He subconsciously fingered his mask, and then readjusted his sack. He grinned at her, waiting.