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"You could do that," she agreed. "Leave me to lie awake, wondering the identity of the man who morphed out of the darkness to watch me fight bandits. I'll probably spend hours daily trying to recall bits and pieces of the conversation, hints as to who you really are." It was said so utterly bluntly that either it was a blatant lie or not a lie at all; with her, it was always unclear. In fact, she might not even be sure herself which case it was, as Alegra didn't tend to make a habit of predicting her own reactions days before they occurred. A waste of time, really, when there was so much in the moment that she could focus on.

She turned her head and shoulders all the way back so that her shoulders were perpendicular to him and her face towards him, grinning at him. "I learned after eleven or so," she announced, "and after perhaps thirteen, I decided to hell with it and said what I thought." There was no doubt that she considered this to be a good thing, and her grin didn't dim in the slightest, despite the fact that she was no longer paying even slight attention to where they were going. "Once free, I couldn't possibly allow myself to be restricted again."

Of all the things Alegra was, stupid was not one of them. Ignorance had never been her strong suit, and in this instance, it was certainly a good thing. "Your curiosity will have to go unsatisfied," she informed him with a mock-sympathetic expression. "I have a feeling that if I made the mistake of answering honestly, you'd use it against me." She hadn't been talking about the armor itself, of course; every person she'd ever been around had seen her in that, just hadn't known it was her. She was referring to the fact that she was as close to being nude as she could be without actually being in that state.

"I think I'll manage this one on my own," she said, "but thanks for the offer." Quickly, she retrieved her dress and other set of undergarments, moving behind Iron and changing into them swiftly. The dress was very, very deep blue, so her body almost seemed to disappear in the darkness until, after packing the armor and such into the saddlebags, she hopped back on and waited for Vaughn to do the same.

"A do-it-yourself type of guy," Alegra labeled him, somehow further amused by the prospect. He was, in a way, she supposed; just not the type that people usually associated with the words. She enjoyed the irony. She lapsed back into seriousness, however, at his next comment. Yes, she did know, at times a bit more than she would like to. The average person viewing the situation would tell her she'd stop having to worry about defying orders if she simply followed them; in her mind, she'd stop having to worry about defying orders if people stopped giving her orders. Of course, she'd never once claimed to be average, and in fact would likely be more offended than anything else if someone called her such.

"I couldn't agree more," she said, the first sincere thing she'd said in what seemed like ages. She was beginning to get antsy, standing there like that. Alegra was never one to just sit still, especially in such a rather, well, awkward situation.

She hated the vulnerable feeling she got as the armor was removed, revealing an impossibly small frame underneath. With the armor on, she was sturdy if small; without it, she was far from it. It was this fact that always stunned her brother, made people wonder how something this size could even manage herself on a pony, much less a horse, or even not get squashed in a crowd. More than anything, though, all those who knew her were at a loss as to how such a massive personality could fit in such a tiny vessel, or, more so, manage to intimidate people. And, unlike most people assumed, she was very much aware of her size and the disadvantage she was at without metal plating.

However, her self-consciousness came second to her pride, as always. His note that it was better to imagine it made her actually smile at him as she cheekily announced, "Told you," clearly amused. She took no offense by his supposed apathy to her figure; there had been many men who found such a child-sized person unattractive. If anything, it made her relieved. He'd gain nothing from assaulting a woman he didn't find arousing, and it was clear by now that he only did what benefited him.

She shook her head, bemused. At least one of them was enjoying this. "Good to know," she said ruefully, trying to keep as straight as possible. Alegra couldn't help but notice that he wasn't even watching what he was doing, staring at her face instead. She didn't look away, however, for numerous reasons. First of all, it was a standard case of dominance, and she wasn't going to concede. Second, hopefully by watching him she'd be able to tell by a change in his expression if he was about to do something, though she acknowledged that the plan was somewhat faulty, as he seemed quite adept at masking his emotions. Third, and finally, her proud wouldn't allow her to look away from the guy undressing her; it was just one of those quirky things about her, she supposed.

She noted with disappointment but not surprise that he was drawing this out as much as he could. Briefly, she considered what she would do to avoid him having too much time to see her in her undergarments; there really wasn't much she could do. That was hardly something she would accept at face value, but she'd have to deal with the situation when it arose, which looked to be a good long several minutes away or more, considering how slowly he was going about it.

Alegra's sigh was heavy as the clouds were as she ventured through the market. She was supposed to be there to buy fabric, a fact she did not at all enjoy. It was her duty, of course, as the young woman of the household, and she was expected to sit down through an afternoon of sewing to turn the designated fabric into a lovely set of drapes. However, Alegra wasn't the type to sit there obediently, succumbing to the chores of the house and "learning" so that she would be able to hold her own whenever she managed to get married. To refuse who be to insult her mother directly, and despite the crazy woman's attempts to mold her into the perfect child, she cared too much for her to do that.

But it was all a bit of a drag to her, and her muscles were just itching to move, to exert themselves. She wanted to run, or ride a horse, or spar with her brother or even climb a tree - something to get her heart pumping and add a burn to her step. Of course, the marketplace wasn't a very good place for that. A noble woman running madly through the streets would undoubtedly capture attention, maybe even create a panic, and when it became clear there was no reason for it, she would be diagnosed as either mad or ill; if the first, her family would suffer the humiliation that went with it, and if the latter, she'd be holed up in bed for however much time was deemed necessary. Walking was clearly the best option.

She ignored his initial question, seeing as there was no real answer. If she actually answered and told him she was trying to convince him, he'd either make some comment along the lines of "sure," or he'd comment on how dedicated she was to convincing him about herself. Alegra was not eager to deal with either, and there were more important matters at hand, so she refrained from doing so completely. After all, this situation was going to embarrassing enough without her adding poison to the fire; she knew well enough by now that he would not simply unclasp it all with silent politeness and then evacuate the premises for her to finish dressing.

With an overwhelming sense of dread, she did as he asked and walked over to stand in front with him - glaring at him the whole while. Clearly luck has abandoned me, she thought, straightening out with the aura of a person walking the plank. "I don't doubt for a moment that it is," she muttered in agreement.

"If you think there are not other methods of attaining pleasure, you are sadly deprived," she informed him, and snorted at his compliments. Yes, she seemed charming and elegant when she wanted to be - or rather, when it was required for her to be. Thankfully, that was not terribly often. "If you act this vocal and defensive with them, I'm not surprised that they turned the other way." "Oh, I am," she supplied willingly. "Even more so if they need a bit more of a kick. I've yet to meet anyone deserving, and I won't settle for second best." She knew she was blunt, fiery, even harsh at times, and she was proud of it. She didn't want a guy who would try to change her or, worse, ignore it.

"I don't need help," she repeated in exasperation. Seeing that he would not move, however, she decided to go with her original plan; to hell with it. And once she'd gotten the armor off, she'd move to the other side. She removed the chain mail gloves and her fingers began working at the larger, easier clasps. She managed to get most of them undone, even, after several minutes and a lot of effort, and then she got to the harder ones; the buckles that were supposed to keep the plates together even under the blow of a sword. They would be difficult no matter what, and at the angle she was at with her small hands, she didn't have a hope in the world of managing them. After several more tries and aching fingers, she paused to consider her options. She had to ask for help, of course... and, knowing him, he'd ask her to beg. Well, she wouldn't. If he agreed, so be it, but she would sooner be caught by her mother than beg him for assistance. "Would you mind?" she asked, turning around to face him with a faulty sweet tone.

"Am I a challenge? Just what is it you want?" she wanted to know, not even bothering to make the air of innocence with which she spoke realistic. Her voice was nothing more than a purr now; this was a game she was good at, though she didn't often play it. "Of course I value your opinion." Nearly crooning. "After all, if you win, you'll be the first to see me." Her sarcasm was blunter than if she'd smacked him in the forehead with it, but sounded entirely sincere, her voice not wavering at all. Then the look transformed as she snickered a second time and continued fishing out her clothing until she had it all over her arm. He was correct; she got most anything her heart desired with that smile, though she'd more than once used it for humorous purposes. Telling a guy who fancied himself your future husband to please remove his hand from your lap was much more rewarding when you could see the effects of the smile on his face as well. Alegra was not above such things.

However, Vaughn's words posed a problem she had not thought of: removing her armor. It was difficult, of course. Twice as difficult as putting it on, which in and of itself was quite the task and generally took her twice as long as it would a normal knight. Normally, Drake was the one to help her with the removal of it, but twice before she'd had her female servant assist her. The girl didn't have any idea what the armor was for, and Alegra had told her that she was used as practice for the knights to maneuver armor on and off quickly. Knowing nothing of the way it all worked, the girl had accepted this, and Alegra had failed to account for the fact that she might be out so late. "I don't need help," she insisted stubbornly. It was a blatant lie, but she'd figure it out somehow... right?