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5/22/1889

A pair of increasingly uncomfortable shoes pick their way along first the river, then the stream as directed. The woman to whom these shoes belong had considered taking that note that she had found with her, but decided that there is no need for it- she had stared at the smudgy words for so long that they were burned photographically into her mind (though, unfortunately, her acidic gaze failed to have any effect on the paper).

It had all started some days previously with that stupid brooch. Despite her best efforts and endurance of compliments from colleagues, she had yet to find out who exactly had left it in her room that was supposed to be private. And whoever it was had to further frustrate things by leaving other little gifts; shells and flowers and other such things that she could find herself if she had wanted them.

Now it's considerably darker than when she had left. Alva is grateful that she decided to oblige this note in the late afternoon instead of actually waiting until the evening. Hopefully now she'll know for sure who the b*****d is that invaded her privacy.

Yes, any sensible woman would probably turn back. And although Alva is sensible, she had walked all the way out here and is determined to figure out what is going on, so turning back is not an option regardless of whatever state of dress whoever is here is in. If nothing else, maybe she would castrate the man for invading her privacy and leading her all the way out here.

Her eyes cast upon the campfire, and then the shorts, and then... is that Alphonse out there? Poor Alva's brain is liable to break; does this mean she is going to have to confront two people this evening? This is getting very ridiculous, very fast. Hands clutched into fists at her sides, she calls out angrily, "What the hell are you doing?!"

Alva storms down the beach of the lake, stopping short where the water begins, so she can more effectively yell at the stupid man before her. Crossing her arms at her chest, she spits, "I am here because someone has been invading my privacy and leaving things in my room for the past week, and I thought that following an invitation here would let me figure out who it is that's doing this. Were it not that someone would need the keys you undoubtedly have to every room in the boarding house, I would not have even mentioned it."

A look of pure disgust crosses the woman's features at Alphonse's question. "Swimming, here? Are you joking?" she starts. "I had no intention of coming here to swim, and even if I were, that notion would be shot now that you've poisoned the lake with your presence."

Alva shifts her feet a millimeter, lifting her shoes from the sand they seemed to so enjoy sinking in. Her facial expression only gets more venemous as Alphonse toys with her. Growling in annoyance, she responds, "Oh, stop; you know very well that is not what I meant." Exhaling sharply through her teeth, she adds, "Though if you were coated in arsenic, that would cause you to be dead as well and the world as a whole would likely be much better off."

The look on her face becomes a nearly humorous grimace with a single lifted eyebrow at the man's suggestion. But it swiftly becomes angry again as she responds, "I do not choose to partake, you seem to try and make me do the most preposterous things, Alphonse. I don't see why I'm still here, honestly. That wretched note was obviously meant to mislead for whatever reason..." Her voice trails off as she tries to imagine the gift-giver ransacking her room somehow, or, God forbid, decorating it.

"Quite an observation, Alphonse," the Norsewoman replies. "Though I do believe that if I were as 'pleasant' everywhere else as I am behind closed doors, you would accuse me of being an improper harlot over twice as often as you already do," she finishes, finger stroking her cheek in thought.

Backing this woman into a corner would most likely prove to be very difficult, especially considering how the man had started this particular encounter by fiercely irritating her. Her steely gray eyes narrow impatiently at his blatant suggestion, contacting with his. "I know what you are getting at, and the answer is no. I think I should leave and get back to my room before it gets too dark out, regardless of the fact that someone on the island is capable of invading it whenever he pleases," Alva decides, already turning around and trying to pick out a path that would have at least decent footing.

Alva crosses her arms again, glancing sidelong at nothing in particular in annoyance. This man has his head impossibly far up his a** with these values of his! "I have no place set for me as a woman; I did not choose to be a woman and it's ridiculous that I should have limitations on my personality and behavior over something I have no control over." Her acidic gaze returns from its wondering to lock with Alphonse's own, "My place is where I choose to make it."

The sudden hand pressing down on her shoulder catches her by surprise, however, and the sudden force causes her to lurch backwards. The sand combined with her shoes isn't much help to her balance at all, and she quickly loses her footing, yelping in shock.

There is a split second of panic, an arm around her waist, falling backwards, a large splash, and then the woman finds herself rather soaked. Not only soaked, but submerged in lake water. This does not make her happy, and she sputters, "Dammit, man, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" Is he taking her away from the shore? How asinine can one get?

Alva spends those few moments of silence fuming like no other. And then Alphonse has to go and talk like that. She begins to struggle against the arm at her waist, saying, "Let me go, you awful man. I'm getting out of here."