Herbalists' Cache Taste Of Fame

Riptide watched as Grace gave a nod of her muzzle as he repeated her name despite that it had been rhetorical, and with muted curiosity as she relaxed and her leg, previously lifted in desire to take flight, appeared to coax back to the earth. With the assurance that she wouldn't flee he ghosted forward a few steps but kept ample distance between them. She stuttered out a question and though they were not challenging to his right to be there, the sea witch couldn't help but take offense to it. “Am I not welcome?” He inquired, a soft lace of venom twining through his tone. Ah, there it was. The instability, the thing that made him more dangerous than the gangster: tenfold, perhaps. While the gangster had some sort of moral code he followed Riptide was not bound by such things. No, no. She did nothing wrong. Riptide attempted to assuage himself. Yet, the sting of insult lingered with soft pinpricks and left a bitter taste upon his tongue. This was a free territory and he had as much right to belong here as she did.

“What are you doing here?” He returned her question without truly answering the one she had posed to him. His intentions had been strictly pure, strictly amiable. He only wanted to collect some more medicinal plants but that truly wasn't her business: unless he deemed it to be so. For now, he maintained his distance, his svelte shoulders stiffening as the tension cracked and nearly became palpable around the sea witch as he fixated his fiery, red-orange gaze upon her, wondering if she would respond to his question or, like him, take offense to it. It was a... social experiment of sorts.