There was no doubt about it: the ladies loved Keiren Hawthorne.
Wherever he went, heads would turn and women of all races would stop to giggle and whisper among themselves. They would point, too, at his shaggy blonde hair, which fell neatly to his shoulders in well-oiled curls. Oh, and there was no denying their admiration of his physique! Even in undeath he was tall and brawny, with shoulders back and chest out. He had perfected his walk, of course: a complicated, strutting swagger that left the ladies breathless.
It was good to be alive.
Figuratively speaking.
On a particularly fine February day, Keiren was strutting through Silvermoon wearing his best outfit, which he fondly regarded as his Courting Clothes. It was a delightful ensemble: a fine linen shirt and high-waisted breeches complimented by a wonderful array of belts and buckles and buttons. The final touch was a jaunty cap, with a single feather sticking regally in the air. All in all, he looked quite dapper.
It was a day for love, and the elven capital was quite in the spirit of things. Every inch of the city was covered with candles or flowers, or even Flower Candles. Keiren thought it was all a bit ridiculous, especially the merchants who accosted him at every turn to wave cologne beneath his nose. He didn't need any of that, of course; he smelled quite nice on his own.
His first potential wife turned out to be a petite little elf, wide-eyed and very pretty. She sat quite alone, surrounded by piles and piles of important-looking documents. As Keiren approached, the elf offered only a quick smile before looking back at her reading.
Playing hard to get. An easily recognizable trait.
"Reading, are you?" he crooned, peering down at the papers. "Why'd you be doing a thing like that on a fine day like this?"
"I find reading expands the mind," she answered quietly, not looking up.
"Well, my pretty lady," he laughed, "Since you are, in fact, a woman, you have no need for any 'expanding of the mind.' Unless one of these is a cookbook…"
Perhaps he should have expected the slap, but he didn't. Reeling backwards from the force of the blow (how could someone so small hit so hard?) he had barely regained his balance before the girl was fifty feet away, leaving a trail of fluttering papers behind her.
Comforting himself with the fact that she didn't deserve him (and such an intellectual woman would never make a good wife), Keiren marched bravely on. Twice did he make the mistake of approaching men (they looked just as lovely as any of the she-elves from a distance), and twice did he get punched squarely in the nose. By early afternoon, he was feeling rather bruised in body and spirit. The day was not turning out to be the journey of romance and desire that he had hoped.
Silverdawn's Scrumptious Chocolate Delight proved to be an excellent way to recuperate. Fortunately, Keiren was the sort of man who looks handsome even with chocolate smeared all over his face, which was undoubtedly why Potential Wife #2 approached. To his delight, there was not a book in sight.
"Good day, sir," she trilled, her voice airy and cultured. She seemed to be admiring the chocolate stains on his face, so he allowed an extra gloop to dribble down on his chin. "Hiii," he drawled, licking his fingers with a flourish.
"Ah… yes. Hello. I see you are not from around here," she continued, smiling gently.
"Wha'd make 'oo thee tha'?" he asked around a mouthful of sweets. He looked down at himself, critically studying his Courting Clothes (now stained a dark brown). He checked his hair (which he'd doused with twice the usual amount of oil, just to be sure). He even straightened the buckles on his shoes. Not from around here? Please.
Her smile seemed to falter a moment. "Oh, nothing. At any rate, I would like to welcome you to Silvermoon! I hope you find your stay a pleasant one."
"It'd be a lot more pleasant if you'd join me," he said with a wink, making a mental note to write that line down for later.
"I'm afraid I possibly couldn't, sir. I'm very busy, you see, and--"
Not about to let this fine catch get away, Keiren decided to break out his secret weapon: his wit. "Busy with what? Lots to do in the kitchen today? Ha-ha!"
The angel, the vision of loveliness, blinked. "No, um… no. My battalion heads to the Ghostlands shortly; we plan an assault on Deathholme and--"
"Fighting?" guffawed Keiren, slapping his knee. "Battle? That's no place for a woman! Or at least, a pretty woman. Might break a nail!"
"We all must do our part--"
"Your part's in the kitchen!" he interrupted delightedly. "Or in the bedroom! Ha-ha!"
He expected that slap.
Keiren Hawthorne, ladies man, found himself tumbling backwards into the fountain, chocolate and all. There was a great splash, and a moment later -- uproarious laughter, from seemingly the whole of Silvermoon.
Cold and alone and feeling embarrassed for the first time in very many years, Keiren dove under a lilypad. And that, dear reader, is how he spent Valentine's Day: hiding under a lilypad, a frog as his only company.
Next year, he would buy the cologne.