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Benedict Cavillor

"How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!"

0 · 730 views · located in Verona, Pennsylvania

a character in “All The World's A Stage”, originally authored by JacksColdSweat, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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❝Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.❞
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ɗιαƖσgυє cσƖσя✦#a7a97f
тнσυgнт cσƖσя✧#90a797

【ƒℓαωѕ ▮ вαѕтιℓℓє】

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『NAME』
Benedict Cavillor

『NICKNAME』
Ben {Frequently || Liked}
Benedick {Angrily || Amusing}


『AGE』
24

『SEXUALITY』
Heterosexual || Heteroromantic

『ETHNICITY』
Italian // Danish

『ROLE』
Benedick || Much Ado About Nothing




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❝Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever.❞
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『 HEIGHT』
6'1"

『 WEIGHT』
187 lbs

『HAIR COLOR』
Blonde

『EYE COLOR』
Blue

『GENERAL APPEARANCE』

When he left, he still had all the visage of a child. An overgrown one, perhaps, but still a child. A rakish grin constantly tugged at his lips, eyes alight with a suspicious humor; he truly was every high school teacher's worst nightmare solely by appearance. He took nearly everything from his mother-- the straw blonde hair (in a perpetual state of tousled bedhead), the strikingly clear blue eyes, the length of his limbs. Before leaving for military school, he was clean shaven. Short hair and finely trimmed stubble marked his head and face, but when he returned, it was with a different look altogether.
Rejecting the standard military cut, he let his hair grow out, pushing it away from his face with a dash of carefully placed gel when it grew long enough to obstruct his vision. The once finely trimmed stubble became a finely trimmed beard, six long years turning it into a scruff he never would have been able to grow out in his adolescent years. Still, the glinting eyes remain, as do the crow's feet and the laugh lines and the cocky grin that have always comprised him.



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Witty ▪ Cocky▪ Prideful ▪ Skeptical ▪ Jovial ▪ Closed-Off ▪ Amiable

He carries with him always a sword. There is no better cutting tool than a sharp tongue; it's the only one that grows sharper with use rather than duller. He has always been a commentator, a bit of a pain at the movies (no one really wants to go with him anymore). Before, he had never been a fan of restraint, letting the silver slips of mercurial notes leap from his tongue at a moment's notice, but lately, he finds that restraint is becoming a valuable tool to him. And it only took several pissed off superiors before he took note. As a result, he's grown to be much more tolerable than he once was as he's learned only to release the spitfire kracken on those he knows can defend themselves (for friends, that is. Enemies beware).
With a sharp tongue, one needs to carry a sparkle in their eye. There's a fine line between being witty and being a prick. Indeed, he carries with him no shadows, only laughter and merriment. One fails to see weight on his shoulders; he has never been one to carry regret and baggage around. But in leaving it all behind, he leaves much else behind as well. Responsibilities, duties, obligations, they don't mean much to him (it's a wonder how he's done so well in the military). Apathetic carries such a negative connotation; carefree suits him much better.
With such a jovial demeanor, it is not difficult to see how he may have something of a magnetic personality, and he never lacks for friends or attention. But even all the friends in the world couldn't cure him of his chronic distrust of people. He often needs to see people prove their good intentions, sees wolves among sheep constantly. By no means is he paranoid, he merely prefers to call it careful. Once someone can make it into his good graces, he becomes the opposite, doubts any bad word of them until proven otherwise, suspects the best rather than the worst. Loyalty, one could call it, or just another part of his pride. For loyal he is indeed, would put his friend's life above his own, but he is also a victim to pride, would hate to acknowledge a poor decision on his part. The effect is that he becomes a polarizing figure, and, combined with all his other traits, one either loves him or hates him.



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❝I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none.❞
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◉ LIKES ◉

◖ Debates ▮ There is little doubt that he is a worker of words, and a rapid-fire battle of the wits has always been exhilarating. ◗
◖ Fencing ▮ A bit of a pretentious endeavor, he's been told, but still an excellent way to work off some stress. ◗
◖ Mystery Novels ▮ While he can appreciate the classics and such, he's always been partial to the novels with suspense, with action that keeps him turning the pages. ◗
◖ Hiking ▮ The serenity and peace of long walks through woods and up mountains has always been striking to him, and reaching the end of a trail is always satisfactory. ◗

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⊗ DISLIKES ⊗

◖ Rainy Days ▮ He's never been a contemplative soul; the gloom and doom just gets him down. ◗
◖ Winter ▮ He's very much a summer guy, doesn't like the chill of the freezing days. Plus, he can't ski for the life of him, so there's not much to do either. ◗
◖ Checkers ▮ It's a ridiculous parody of chess that makes no logical sense to him. ◗
◖ Heights ▮ Hard to believe as it may be, he's never been a fan of high places. He's been bungee jumping once. He almost vomited. ◗



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『 STRENGTHS 』

◖ Intuitive ▮ Sometimes, he mysteriously provides some valuable insight. He credits this to his surprisingly good ability to read people and read them well. ◗
◖ Intelligent ▮ Never let it be said that Ben isn't an incredibly smart person. Sometimes his intellect prefers to manifest itself in witty comments rather than any useful means, but it's still there. ◗
◖ Competent ▮ He's always been a fast learner when he applies himself, perhaps due to his fierce determination to never be the weakest link. ◗
◖ Amicable ▮ Something of a people person, he never has much difficulty integrating himself into groups and is always making fast friends. ◗

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『 WEAKNESSES 』

◖ Suspicious ▮ Despite having a generally friendly demeanor, he finds it difficult to trust people and is always a little suspicious of their intentions at first. ◗
◖ Cocky ▮ As though the infuriating smirk didn't give him away. He has no shortage of confidence or pride; some would say there's an abundance. ◗
◖ Stubborn ▮ Mule-headed, some might call him. He's not a fan of backing down from anything in any situation. ◗
◖ Carefree ▮ Although it makes life fun, his lackadaisical attitude can also make him ignore responsibilities and take things a little too lightly. ◗

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『QUIRKS』

He has a tendency to run his hand through his hair when he's feeling frustrated, or running his tongue along his teeth when he's deep in thought.
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『FEARS』

Perhaps less of a dislike and more of a fear, heights still appeal to him in no way. And the thought of facing what comes after death, whether it be oblivion or an afterlife of sorts, is nothing short of terrifying.



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❝Suffer love!❞
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When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one
A wonderful part of the mess that we made
We pick ourselves undone
All of your flaws and all of my flaws, they lie there hand in hand
Ones we’ve inherited, ones that we learn
They pass from man to man
There’s a hole in my soul
I can’t fill it, I can’t fill it
There’s a hole in my soul
Can you fill it? Can you fill it?
You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve
And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground
Dig them up - let’s finish what we started
Dig them up - so nothing’s left unturned
All of your flaws and all of my flaws, when they have been exhumed
We’ll see that we need them to be who we are
Without them we’d be doomed
When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are counted
All of your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one
Look at the wonderful mess that we made
We pick ourselves undone




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❝There was a star danced and under that was I born.❞
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Under the stars he was born, and under the sky he was raised. He spent childhood years traipsing lazily through fields of grass and flowers, walking up rolling hills, down hidden dirt paths in the forest. He cannot say his family life was anything but happy. He was an only child, but never lonely.
When he began schooling, it cut into his time outdoors, but it was enjoyable, and he can't say he minded much. Again, he traipsed through the halls, endearing enough to teachers that they let most of his antics slide.
It wasn't until high school that the wanderlust struck. The surroundings of his small suburban town seemed to him too small, and if there was a world out there to be explored, he'd be damned if he wasn't out there exploring it. His parents, wealthy enough, funded a six month trip to Europe after his senior year, called it a graduation present. When he returned, he enlisted straightaway into military school. It hadn't been his plan, in fact, he hadn't had any semblance of a plan before then, but it seemed to him then like the only option he could ever consider.
Three years later, and he was out by twenty one. He had made periodic returns back to his hometown during his schooling career, revisiting old friends and striking up new friendships as he went, but he was given an assignment soon after his graduation under one of the most well-liked commanders, Peter Donaldson.
Another three years, and he's back in Verona. A short leave, only a year perhaps, but he's glad to see his hometown again after three long years away. In a few months he'll be gone again, off to god knows where for god knows how long, but for now he's grateful for the time off.




░C░O░P░Y░R░I░G░H░T░
σяιgιηαℓ cнαяαcтєя ѕнєєт ву
; νєяιх
мσ∂ιƒιє∂ ву; נαcкѕcσℓ∂ѕωєαт

So begins...

Benedict Cavillor's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Claude King Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Irving Macbeth Character Portrait: Hamlet, Jr. Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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◤◥
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(presenting a modernization of Shakespeare's classics.)
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A perfect midsummer's day. Perhaps the most perfect midsummer's day the town of Verona had seen in ages.

Claude King sucked the thick, warm air into his nostrils and breathed it out through his mouth. The elements of the park were saccharine, but perfect for an excessively beautiful day such as this one. It stood right in the center of the bustling town, and it was almost shameful not to plan something in such a wonderful, flawless area.

So with a snap of his fingers, Claude commanded his many attendants to step forward. "Fellas," he crowed, "I think we've found our spot. It's time to start decorating."

With that, the group of men nodded, and busted into action. While most of the craftsmen got to work hanging streamers, balloons, and lanterns throughout the trees, a corpulent man named Nicholas Bottom spent his time carefully hammering a colorful sign into the park's grassy sod. It read...

~ A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S FESTIVAL ~
Come join the festivity from 6-10 pm!
Food, dancing, music, a performance by our acting trope, and a fun time for all!


With a cool glass of lemonade in his right hand, Claude readjusted his aviator sunglasses and gazed upon the soon-to-be masterpiece of the Midsummer Night's Festival - his own idea, and an event he presumed the entire town had been waiting for for months. Why such little notice for such an anticipated festival? The answer was quite simple...

Verona, quite frankly, was in chaos. Not in economic chaos, nor in chaos with another town or the state of Pennsylvania itself, but in emotional chaos. The residents these days seemed...uneasy. The morale of the people was low and terribly depressing. Why, even his own stepson, Hamlet Jr., was sulking in the shadows. What the small town needed was a gigantic pick-me-up. A simple smile in the midst of darkness. This festival would lift the mood, create new bonds, and make bold, valuable memories. It was extravagant, yes, but that was would Verona was supposed to be. After all, a little party never hurt nobody. What could go wrong?

After taking a long swig of lemonade from his glass, Claude grabbed some cards advertising the event, and began to hand them out to passersby, saying, "Come one and come all! Hope to see you there!"




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"Hello miss! Would you like-"

Before Ophelia Sprout could finish her sentence, the lady shot past her, not even grabbing the beautiful rose that the girl was holding out to her for free. Handing out flowers with tags on them to random strangers in order to promote the Midsummer Night's Festival was more work than it actually seemed. Still, Ophelia had to do it, or else her father would never let her back inside the house.

"Oh! Sir! Are you interested in-"

Just like the woman, the man scooted right past Ophelia, not even bothering to hear what her mousy voice had to utter.

She gazed down at the ground , then at the red, orange, and purple roses in her hands. This task was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. If only she had a louder voice...then maybe people would hear her.

Birds sweetly chirping in the breeze, Ophelia calculatingly glanced to her left, then to her right. Slowly and gingerly, she placed the flowers down onto the sidewalk. She looked left and right once more, and then out of nowhere, broke out into a sprint.

Immediately she felt guilty for disobeying her father's orders, but once she saw the swarm of children crowd around the puddle of flowers, her doubts disappeared. He'd never know about what she really did if she just lied, but of course, Ophelia was a terrible liar, so that would never work.

If only her father wasn't so...commanding. Perhaps if he didn't have such a big job in the town and were just like everyone else, then maybe he wouldn't be so strict and mean all the time. After all, he was always getting into things that he didn't need to be getting into...like his daughter's relationship with her boyfriend.

It was all so confusing, and she didn't want to think about it right now. She just wanted to go to the park and chill underneath her favorite willow tree. So with speedy steps, that's exactly what she did. A beautiful river nearby, Ophelia plucked a stone from the ground below, and tossed it into the murky pool. The stone skipped across the water's surface, and she closed her eyes. She wished for happiness, health, and a wonderful summer.

And then like a child, she dropped to the ground, staring up at the clouds and humming the first tune that came to mind. Today would be a good day, and she knew it.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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_______________The Soldier_______________
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______"ιƒ σηℓу ωє ωєяє вяανє єησυgн тσ ℓινє тнє ℓινєѕ ωє ѕтσℓє."

_______________________∂ιαℓσgυє cσℓσя✧#a7a97f
_______________________тнσυgнт cσℓσя✦ #90a797
_________________________________outfit

As it turns out, military habits are not very easy to abandon. Despite the fact that there were no orders being shouted in his face, Ben arose from his bed at precisely 5:00. Not a second late. He wondered if any of the commanders knew that all their yelling and shouting was officially pointless; all the soldiers would wake on their own after a month.

Naturally, there was little to be done at five in the morning. The sun's rays were just barely touching the horizon, and for the most part, the sleepy town of Verona was still enveloped in darkness.

So Ben didn't do anything. For a good twenty minutes, he remained lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as he watched the blades spin round and round. After those twenty minutes, which he found to be insufferable, he decided he couldn't waste away the day lying in bed. The Ben of his youth could, this he knew with certainty, but things had changed. He had become too accustomed to being active, to being in continual motion; if not here, then over there, moving always with a purpose. He was sure his commander meant well, granting him a leave to go home for a while in honor of his recent promotion to captaincy, but he wasn't quite sure how the gift was panning out yet. He loved being home, he did, but something about it didn't feel quite right. Honestly, if he wasn't at work, he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

With great effort, he trudged over to the kitchen area of the small cabin he was subletting and brewed himself a coffee. Then, with another bout of effort, he dragged his feet over to his suitcase, (he hadn't unpacked despite having been moved in for a month now; another example of how military habits die hard) and pulled on some jogging shorts and an old ratty t-shirt. He downed the coffee, black, with little effort. He'd be needing it. And with that, he tossed the mug in the kitchen sink, grabbed his headphones, and set out for a nice run through the woods.

By the time he returned, the sun was already high above him, and his phone told him it was very near to noon. At least now there'd be life in the town. So he decided that after a quick shower and some lunch, it'd be more than appropriate to head into the town center. Once he was out and fed, it was a good deal later than it was when he had returned, so out into the woods he ventured once more. This time, it was the path that led to town that he traveled on, arriving fairly quickly to where it was he needed to be. Indeed, the town center was alive with people heading to and fro and ducking into stores here and there and... oh? A group of people working in the park caught his eye, and he ambled over to the sign stuck in the dirt near their work area. A festival. That sounded lovely. And it wasn't as if he had very much else to do.

Further away, near the edge of the lake, something else caught his eye. Or rather, someone else. Two people, in fact, and both, he decided, were people he definitively needed to be around exactly at this moment. The taller girl, who had recently wrapped the shorter girl in a quick embrace, was pulling out her phone and tapping away messages. Benedict arrived at her side just as she was putting it away.

"Afternoon, Phelia," he shot a lazy grin in the pixie-faced girl's direction. He liked Ophelia; she was endearingly sweet. Turning to Beatrice, he nodded his head almost mockingly seriously in greeting. "Lady Disdain." He turned back to Ophelia, a sinless smile curving his lips. "Hear there's gonna be a festival in town tonight. You planning on attending?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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XXXXBᴇᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴇ O'Cᴏɴɴᴇʟʟʏ
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XXXXXXXXXXXXɪPᴏᴅ : Sun Shy
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XXXThe sun felt good. With so much time being indoors. Studying or working, she didn't have the luxury of going on nice walks like this. She forgot how much she even liked being outside. Whenever someone was to ask what Beatrice did in her free time, she'd reply with "what free time". Her supposed free time was catching up on sleep, or reading some Agatha Christie on her Kindle. Her taste in genres were typically only murder mysteries, or mysteries in general. Beatrice did however, manage to find a way to read the Harry Potter books along with Lord of the Rings.
XXXSo distracted by the blasting of her music, and the content clearing of her head - she didn't see or hear Ophelia running to meet her with a hug. The contact startled her, and she was close to elbowing whoever it was. When she saw it was Ophelia she let out a sigh of relief, patting the hands that were around her awkwardly. She took out the headphone, wrapping it around the edge of her ear before looking to her.
XXX"Ophelia, a pleasure to see you" she spoke, her tone coming out more sarcastic than originally intended. She let out a cough to clear her voice for any conversation that would occur.
XXXShe hadn't ever really talked to Ophelia. They had their run ins, but she hadn't ever had time. Ophelia wasn't the kind of girl she saw hitting the bar scene, and if she was - she had never seen her at the pub. Ophelia in her eyes, was almost too sweet for this world. So gentle, so untouched it seemed. She wished she were the same. Beatrice smiled at the girl.
XXX"I'm alright. My first real day out in awhile so I'm intent of enjoying it. I should be going to the festival tonight. Working after though" she told her as they walked.
XXX"Are you? You could meet up with Hero and I. Wait, no, you're probably going with your boyfriend?" she questioned before a question was brought her way. The question was one she didn't expect, especially from her. The relationship between her and Benedict wasn't something typical. Long ago, she was vulnerable, and that vulnerability was a mistake. She got hurt, by him. Since them she gave him a cold shoulder, and he didn't seem to care, giving her the same speech she gave him. The only was she could tolerate whatever it was they were, was that he matched her wit.
XXX"You sound like we're dating. Fighting sounds nasty. We just don't like one another is all" she explained as easily as she could. When Ophelia offered to go say hello to Katherine and Paris she nodded. "Sure. Don't know them well either. Though Paris does come into the bar every so often"
XXXAs they begun to walk towards the other party, she heard a familiar voice, and then saw a familiar figure. He greeted Ophelia like any person would, and then her nick name - Lady Disdain. She only rolled her eyes.
XXX"Disdain can live easily when it has you to keep it alive" she retorted casually, before continuing her words. "Sir Pompous, you can transform even courtesy to disdain with your presence alone. You should feel honored"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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Momentarily distracted by the conversation just out of earshot, Paris turned only to discover the most perfect human he'd ever set eyes on had sneaked up behind him. She was clutching one of the roses from the pile, and though she wasn't exactly frowning at the moment, he could tell she did so more often than not. Her clothes, while casual, were clearly those of someone with expensive taste, and her entire demeanor was lukewarm at best.

Paris had seen beautiful people from around the world, even more beautiful than the woman holding the rose--though to give an example would be impossible at the moment--but none he'd ever met had ever seemed so exactly his type.

Holy shit, he thought. He couldn't believe he hadn't met her yet. He'd been in Verona for over a week, and he thought he'd met everyone and their mother. Regardless, he knew immediately that she was exactly what he was looking for: rich, gorgeous, and bitter as hell.

"Hello," he greeted, sticking his hand out and giving his cockiest grin. "I'm Paris, and you are?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Beatrice O'Conelly
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__"ι нα∂ α нσℓє ιη му нєαят αη∂ ι ωαѕ ℓσσкιηg ƒσя α ριєcє тнαт ƒιт."
_____________________∂ιαℓσgυє cσℓσя✧#6b856f
_____________________тнσυgнт cσℓσя✦ #854442
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It was always interesting to walk through the town. She could see in people's body language what they were feeling, what they were thinking, and it was all just so fascinating. She was half tempted to abandon her walk and just take a seat on the park bench for some people watching. It was a quality past-time, and though it certainly wasn't as interesting as "reality" TV, the fabrication of the shows made them boring for her to sit through. She preferred the truth in all matters of the world.

Not so far away from her location, she saw the ever-engaging Benedict Cavillor approach the resident fairy child and bartender. She had been friends with Benedict in her childhood, the smallness of Verona allowing their age difference to be negligible. She supposed they were still friendly on some level, but things now were much, much different than they were when they were children.

Ophelia, on the other hand, was someone she had never really been all too close to. She was something of a dream, too unattainable, too pure for this world, and even as a much more agreeable child, it had intimidated her. Now, as an adult, it just made her uncomfortable. Ophelia's kindness made her feel almost guilty, and she much preferred to not have to deal with those feelings. Beatrice looks annoyed at Ben's presence, and Ben's wicked grin told Kat she had every right to be. She was far from Beatrice's friend, hadn't spoken to her much really, but she did admire the girl's quick mind and blunt honesty. If Kat had anything more than acquaintances, she's sure she'd like Beatrice to be one of those friends. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the soft waxy petals of the rose in her hand.

Then, suddenly, there was a body at her side tearing her away from her thoughts. The face she found herself staring at was attractive, certainly, but there was a smugness in his smile that put her off immediately. The facade of "charming" he had placed on seemed fake, forced. Instantly, she was suspicious of his motives for approaching her. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched his mouth move, hearing his name as her eyes darted down to his now outstretched hand. There was a beat as she merely looked at his hand, an eyebrow raised. Then slowly, making sure to convey the reluctance, she reached out and grasped his hand, shaking firmly and strongly, the way her father used to tell her businessmen would respect.

"Katherine," she answered, as coldly as possible without being outright rude, "to those that have any business using my name." It was far from subtle, and she hoped her chilling introduction was enough to dissuade him from attempting any further conversation as she turned on her heel and continued on in the direction she had been going in.