|Choking on Words|
|Summary:||Rutger talks to Senna about the rumors he's heard. By talk, we mean strangle.|
|Rutger's Private Tent|
|A sweet tent with stuff in it.|
|June 22nd 289 AL|
When Rutger returned to the tournament, there were servants to set up his tent once more, taking on the heavy work of moving camp furniture and securing ties. When it came time to put the finer points on the tent, though, Senna took over the task. The placement of the furniture, unpacking clothing to give it a chance to hang out the wrinkles, setting up a tray of drinks and snacks. In short, doing everything necessary to make the temporary housing seem like home. As afternoon turns to sunset, she's just letting down a few of the flaps, cutting out the dust of people returning to their own accommodations from the tourney grounds.
It is some time with the waning day, before the Lord Nayland finally shows himself. There's no formalities when he comes in, nor does he removing his doublet, as much as he removes his traveling coate. This is passed to a page before he moves to pour himself a glass of wine, even if one has been already prepared for him. A glance over his shoulder as Lucamore comes in, soon following. "You may leave." the knight intones, excusing most out of his tent flaps.
Senna glances up as Rutger enters the tent, quiet and observant as ever. She watches as he pours a second glass of wine, straightening the material of the tent to better seal out dust and wind. And when he speaks, she steps back from her task, dipping into a polite curtsey with downcast gaze before moving to depart out the front as well.
"You." Rutger states. "Stay." pretty much a command there, even as he begins to drink from his glass, before reaching for the other. A light licking of lips, before more wine is poured down, as he drains the second cup. "I did not say for you to leave." Rutger adds raggedly. Quietly, he reaches up to remove his chain of peerage. "What have you been up to lately?"
Senna stills at the command, pausing only to tie the front flaps of the tent closed before moving back inside. "Seeing to Lady Roslyn's needs, for the most part," she answers, watching him from beneath lowered lashes as she sees to a few other small tasks about the tent, lighting candles in preparation for nightfall. "I heard you were called back to Stonebridge. Have we reason to be concerned?"
"We do. Ser Andrey Charlton met me on the road with a rather large and mixed looking host. They demanded release of Lady Alys and a few others, or they would raise the town." he simply states. "So I was there. And you were here." he says with a glance. Fingers toy with the laces of his doublet as he stalks over towards Senna, a raise of a brow to her. "What all have you 'done' for my sister?"
Senna grimaces at the news of the Charltons, turning to face him as he approaches. "I was here," she agrees slowly, brow arching in turn as she reaches up to help with the laces of his doublet. "It would have looked strange for you to take your sister's maid back to Stonebridge with you, no?" She pauses before she answers the last question, and when she does, it's with a question of her own. "It sounds as though you have some ideas of your own about what I've been doing for your sister, my lord. What is it you think I've done for your sister?"
There's the question, and Rutger's jaw twitches. And right there he reaches over to try to grasp the woman by the throat, because really that is a sound solution. And if he does catch Senna, he is going to try to strangle her. Just a bit-or maybe the life out of her. "I think you've made yourself known to Lord Groves' and that is why you wish my sister to suddenly start being married to him." He barks out. flecks of spittle coming from the side of his mouth.
Senna rarely looks surprised. Canny and careful as she is, she usually knows what's coming before it hits her. And Rutger has been on edge since he walked into the tent. She isn't surprised when he reaches for her, but she's too close to escape entirely. As his hand wraps around the slender column of her throat, she spins toward him, pushing an arm between her neck and his arm and placing her back against him. It's enough to gain her a breath of air, and one she uses quickly and efficiently to croak out an answer before there's no room for one: "Not me, Roslyn."
The movement is enough to give her some respite, but Rutger is not one easily swayed or pulled off when he wants to strangle someone. With her back to him, he tightens his grip, as his arm coils, muscles flexed, as he tries to fight more air out of her throat. Teeth bared there in a moment of pure rage. Though-the croak does catch him off a little, not enough to ease up, but enough to have him hiss by her ear. "What?!"
Senna struggles against him, but the arm that won that breath keeps her hand from his for a moment as she tries to remember her father's lessons. Five years as a valued servant have dulled her reflexes. "My cloak," she gasps, struggling to draw a breath through her nose, only to lose it before it can reach her lungs. "Not me." Even as she speaks, she's starting to go still, though whether it from lack of air or the precursor to some other attack isn't immediately clear.
There is a grimace as it seems Rutger's intent is strangling the life out of Senna. However the words croaked and the woman going still does have him release her throat and slightly push off from her. Eyes go to his hands first, before he is looking back to Senna. Hopefully he hadn't killed her. Yet. Only then does he take a few steps to the flap. pausing there. "What?"
As soon as he releases her, Senna backs away as quickly as she can, a hand to her throat as she gasps and coughs. She has enough presence of mind to stop near one of the seams in the tent, and her free hand slips behind her skirts before she wheezes out an answer. "I'm not fucking Kittridge Groves," she says once there's air in her lungs again. "Roslyn is. /Fuck/, Rutger, what happened to you don't own me?" She's half bent still, forcing herself to take slow, careful breaths as she tries to see if there's any serious damage.
"Well good." Rutger adds after he flexes his strangling hand for a moment. The other coming up to rub over his knuckles, before he is looking back towards the woman. "Not owning you, and not killing you are two different fish. I said, I would not own you, yes. But I did not say, I would not murder you, if you fucked around." A sniff and then he rolls his shoulders back. "So- Roslyn, my sister is fucking Kittridge? And she somehow looks like you?" He's giving you a chance to explain.
"Remind me to read over any contracts you ask me to sign as thoroughly as possible," Senna croaks, dry in both voice and tone. With that reminder of her mortality, she moves to claim the untaken glass of wine still left out, trying to wet her throat. "To people who don't know us, your sister and I look very alike," she says after a sip, her other hand still hidden in the folds of her skirts. "Dark hair, hazel eyes, a little tall, not likely to be mistaken for a man. In my cloak, in the dark? She passes. And she enjoys herself, and no one's reputation is the worse for it."
Rutger remains quiet for a moment as his arms shift to rest over his chest. A raise of his brow, and there, he moves from the flap of the tent. The information collected and held there. "So you were facilitating an affair with my sister and Ser Kittridge?" Perhaps he is waiting for some other shoe to drop?
Senna takes another swallow of wine, wincing with the motion, as she watches him. "Yes," she answers simply first. "Though they didn't take much facilitating. Your sister tried to convince me to stay behind when she went out on a ride with him at the Roost. I followed her to make sure she was safe, and saw a bit more than safety going on. But your sister's a grown woman, and the least she deserves before she gets stuck with some limp-dick of a Terrick is to know what she's missing out on." She moves to place the table between them, still watching him warily. "/I/ haven't done anything with Groves." A drink, without taking her eyes off of him. "And I'm not sure what I think about you at the moment, either."
There is a faint shrug from Rutger. "I had told you what I sought- and I reacted as I did." Rutger states before he is moving to pour himself some wine. And then take another drink. Still he doesn't move to come close to her. "You might tolerate infidelity, I do not." he says before he is looking back eyes narrowed. "I see." he says "And did this motivate the talk the other night in which you spoke for the Groves switch?"
"Infidelity?" Senna echoes, incredulous. "You do realize I-" And then she stops, something shifting in her posture with a low laugh as she moves to drop into a camp chair, legs crossed. "No, you don't, do you?" she muses. "Well. Please consider my misconceptions corrected, my lord." She considers his last for a long moment, then nods. "It was a factor, among other things. Like the direction talks were going. And an unwillingness to share you with the Groves girl. Lacking a grip such as your own, I must resort to other means to keep you to myself.""
"I realize what? By all means, let me know what I should realize Misstress Delacourt?" Rutger asks, with a raise of his brow. As she drops he drains down more wine. "We have our methods. I think yours are more-" a pause "Friendly than mine, but." a shrug. "I see, and how long were you to keep this from me, should be my second question."
Senna doesn't elucidate on the matter of what he should realize, taking another careful sip of the wine. "Until I had to share it," she answers his second question. "Roslyn will be cross that I did, I imagine, but I draw the line at dying for her affair." She sets the glass down on the ground next to her, pressing careful fingers against her throat once more, her right hand still in her skirts.
"You were close." Rutger notes before he is looking down to his wine, and with that he is setting aside his drink and is moving to disrobe. "Please, for the sake of your life, don't cover her next time." he adds before he is looking back to Senna. Whether or not he is angered by his sister is hard to read. "How long?" The affair of course.
"Now you're concerned about my life?" Senna arches a brow, and where she would usually rise to help him disrobe, she's not moving yet. Whether it's fear or just pique at being strangled isn't entirely clear. "Or just where to hide the body? Since the day of or after the cliff diving," she answers his question. Though she watches him still, there's a different tenor to it when he starts to undress. Oh, right. That's why it's worth the threat of death.
"Just because I was going to murder you, doesn't mean, I am not a little concerned." Rutger replies with an amused look on his visage. He continues to undress at his own pace, not looking up or back towards Senna. "I've never had trouble with dealing with bodies. Seagard is no different than the Mire, or Kings Landing. There are places to be put." he adds, before he shakes off his boots. A nod given as he reaches to remove his britches. "I see." quiet for a moment, before he is making for his bed. "You are welcome to stay or go, as you see fit."
"Mmmm. You'll be sorry when I'm dead." Senna stays where she is for a bit longer, considering his offer. When she finally rises, she steps up behind him, reaching out to slip her hands around his waist, then down to his hips and forward. She places a soft kiss to his shoulder, then follows it with a sharper nip in chastisement. "Perhaps we could talk about other sins that could end my life before I wander down those particular paths again."
"I was sorry when my wife died. I am sure I would be sorry with you being dead as well." Rutger says, before he feels her hands smooth at his waist, and down. A gasp of breath as she catches flesh, before turning his head to the nip. "Perhaps." offered with a slight smile. "Mainly, I don't like betrayal, and if you murder someone of my family-those will kill you. So keep from those." he adds. in a shudder. "And you will be fine."
Senna's lips travel from his shoulder to his neck, teeth scraping the skin behind his ear. "I'm not interested in killing Naylands," she murmurs against his skin, hands stroking skillfully. "But seeing as you're the one who sent me to the little trout, I didn't think you were all that particular about who I fucked. You realize you'll be hanging Valyrian steel on the wall this way, don't you?" There's a smile behind the last, curving against his throat as her hands continue to distract.
"That was before this.." Rutger adds before he relaxes his shoulders into that scrape of teeth. Feeling her hand wrap upon his cock, there's a sigh in his breathing. She can stroke as much as she wants. Apparently, Strangling's been forgiven- at least temporarily? A shudder and a shake of his head. "I do.." he adds. "But I also realize, what I want and who I am."
Senna's grip shifts to one hand, the other tugging at her skirts as she presses against his back. Instead of baring her skin, though, she tosses something onto the bed with a soft thump: a small dagger, the sort easily hidden about her person. "You can do whatever you want to me in bed, Rutger," she murmurs to his shoulder, nipping again as her hand tightens around his cock, just short of pain. "But I won't lie down and die for you." Loosening her grip, she laughs softly and steps back. "And if I don't care for your other arrangements, it won't be /you/ who meets the Stranger."