She'd be able to handle him, to understand him, to manipulate him - she's sure of it - if only she wasn't caught so off guard by him.
He's standard fare, easy classification. Genocidal tendencies, rationalisation in order to cope with things outside his understanding - she knows his type, knows how to deal with it.
But her tongue gets tied sometimes. She can't help it. It was easier, through the screen. She could picture him as a weedy, compensating dweeb and smile to herself, secure in her intelligence. The moment she meets him though - that's when it changes.
She meets him when she's fifteen, past puberty and conscious of her sexuality now. She knows her curves, the folds of herself; knows what pleasure is, what attraction is. She knows herself, she thinks, and then she meets him and it changes.
He's not a dweeb, like she pictured him to be. His arms are muscular - would have to be, to carry his gun, but this is different. This is seeing. His features are fine, angular, shaped to minimize drag while in the water. He looks almost vampiric in his beauty, with his cheekbones sharp enough to cut flesh on.
She shivers when he greets her, his skin soft, his hand in hers - a formal handshake. She struggles with herself, tries to regain her sass, but to no avail. She stammers and stutters and if forced to take her leave, and she feels his eyes on her with every step she takes to the door.
Later that night, she gets upset with herself. No, actually, she gets angry. Who is this troll to unnerve her? Who is he to her, but a plaything? She goes to bed with rage brewing in her mind, and hatred beginning to fester in her heart.
It continues in the same vein for weeks - the moment she's with him, she can't speak. She leaves, gets angry, and the hatred grows along with the attraction. She can't keep her eyes off him, and she hates him for his beauty as much as she is furious with herself for finding him beautiful.
One night, when they are alone, she loses it. Snaps and flings all the insults that had fallen off her tongue unspoken at him, and he stops her with a hand on her wrist and a tongue in her mouth. She rebels, at first - refuses him - but he pulls back and she opens her eyes, and how could she say no to that fucking irritating gorgeous face?
That night, she became Eridan Ampora's kismesis with all the spirit Lalondes are known for in their romances. And she never lost her words around him again (except for that night they tried a gag).