Page 303: Dapper Turtle
Dapper Turtle
Summary: Vance Knight + Rainstorm = Cranky, dapper turtle. Luckily, Sofya knows what to do.
Date: 21/05/2012
Related Logs: Washout scene.
Inigo Sofya 
Inigo's Tent — The Twins
May 18, 289 A.L.

Rain continues to pour down from the sky above, soaking anything and anyone that had the unfortunate luck to be outside when the storm rushed in with little warning. Rolling clouds make up the dark, grey sky as far as the eye can see with no hope of sunlight lingering in the distance. Lightning flashes to illuminate the gloom of the muddy tourney fields and the vast array of tents around, along with anyone unlucky enough to still be outside. A heartbeat later thunder sounds, a booming crack of like the sky is falling down around them and making the steady drumming of rain on tent fabric seem softer by the comparison.

It has taken him some time to get things taken care of with his gear and, like others, making sure the horses are cared for and not about to bolt anywhere, but finally Inigo returns to his tent to escape the downpour. He only makes it a couple steps in before he comes to a stop and looks down at himself with a frown. Still outfitted in his armor, rainwater cascades off the metal even more than it drips from the fabric of his clothes, leaving a puddle now that he's stopped for a moment and his boots have certainly fared better, covered in mud as they are. At least his armor still looks shiny? Standing there with wet hair plastered to his head and a scowl on his face while still armored, he looks rather like a cranky turtle, if a particularly gallant one.

The duty of seeing to horses does not fall on Sofya today, a short-term squire having been drafted for Inigo during the tournament, so when the sky began to break with rain she quickly returned to the tent. So it is there that she waits. Heat has been stoked in a brazier, carefully settled away from anything particularly flammable, keeping it warm against the chill of the rain. Although her own hair is damp, clinging to her forehead in slim tendrils, she is not nearly so sodden as her Lord. The gallant, sulky turtle. "Gods, you're soaked," she says, pressing a towel into his hands before moving to unhook his cloak from the armor. "Let's get this off of you."

"Just you here, hm," Inigo observes with a mild frown, which is probably more of a comment on wondering where that short-term squire got off to than being unhappy to see her. "Happens when you get caught outside while the sky tries to drown the ground. Looks like you managed to get inside quick enough to miss the worst of it," he further observes in response to her comment on his state of being quite thoroughly soaked. With a towel in hand, he starts drying himself off as best he can.

"Yes. Just me. If it wasn't you'd be left with else while I went and saw to the horses." A short pull of expression hints at how much Sofya approves of that idea. Her chilled fingers gently unclip his sodden cloak, catching the heavy, waterlogged material before it can crumple to the ground with a grunt. "Benefits of being of the lower class, my Ser. No one cares if I run to get out of the rain," she notes cheerfully, carrying the thick material near the heat and hanging over a collapsible rack. "I will have the worst of words with it if it gets you sick, though." Watch out weather. Returning to Inigo, she quickly gets to work removing his goret before continuing on the rest of the armor.

"It was not a complaint," Inigo mutters, the sound muffled by the towel as he dries his face and catches drips from his hair. With the cloak gone, he stands up just a little straighter, some of the weight lifted off of him. "Alright," he begins in a low voice, "Next time you can wear the armor and I will run out of the rain." He's kidding, of course, as tempting as that may seem at the moment when he is as much puddle as he is person. "I am unable to decide if getting sick would be more or less embarrassing that being unhorsed by some green youth." It's a bit debatable. While Sofya removes his armor he helps as best he can, even if at times that just means standing still.

"Good," Sofya replies with a sniff, sweeping her hair over her shoulder with a hand. She's prettier than that temporary squire anyways. Hrmph. Blue eyes flitting up to him as she unlocks the goret, she flashes him a pretty little grin. "I don't think it'd look half so lovely on me, my Ser. It'd be a little large." The metal piece is gently removed from his throat and set aside. She couldn't use a lance so half as well either. "Do try not to be unhorsed by a green youth, I've seen you ride better than that. Your horse would be ashamed." Tsk. His armor is removed piece by piece, until she has him down to sodden leathers and is clicking her tongue derisively. Off with it.

"Now, when have you known me to complain of your singularly lovely company?" Inigo wonders in response to that sniff with those big brown eyes watching his retainer and a hint of a smile on his features. "Hm," he murmurs consideringly, looking at the armor that's already been placed on its rack. "I suppose it would be a bit large. Alas, I shall continue to have to brave the rain in your stead." Woe is he, though he doesn't look very woeful. "No doubt he would leave me from the shame, find a new rider who is less pathetic." With the armor finally removed, he stretches and rolls his shoulders. Ahh. "I don't think a towel is going to cover this," he says, looking at his still dripping clothing.

Bright eyes flit up to Inigo, mouth quirked with a sharper flavor of mischief as Sofya teases, "Only every other day." It is not nearly so often as that. Chuckling softly, she shakes her head and swipes the towel from his hands to gently ruffle through his hair now that his light armor has been set aside. Or at least placed on the group in the case of the heavier bits. "You'll look ever the more dashing running the tilt, my Ser. Enough so, that I imagine your horse won't leave you even if you do get unseated by some green lad." Woe. Ever such woe. Brow furrowing slightly, Sofya casts a frown at his dripping clothing as if it has done her a personal affront. "Nothing to be done for it. Off it comes." Her quick fingers slip through the lacings, untying them so Inigo can just slip out of his clothes and into a fresh set.

Not nearly so often as that. Inigo's eyes grow briefly wider. "Poor you, then, constantly saddled with with the company of one both ungrateful and of poor taste," he says, playing himself down and shaking his head in a show of sympathy…except for the teasing look in his dark eyes and the quiet laugh that follows his statement as she ruffles his damp hair. "Well, as long as I look dashing." Because that's what counts, surely. "I believe you are correct," he says to her assessment of his sodden clothing, sliding out of the aketon as Sofya undoes the laces and then moving to peel his shirt off his skin and over his head and hand it over to be hung with the rest of his drying clothing.

A warm chorus of laughter, just as bright as her eyes, slips from Sofya lips at Inigo's downplay. The towel smooths over his skin with a gentle attentiveness, warming his cooled skin. "At least you realize that now, ever so poor as I am," she quips lightly in return, moving around him as she works. Once he is laced, she waits patiently for his clothes, watching to see if Inigo requires any further assistance as he goes. The damp clothes are bundled into her arms and promptly whisked away to be hung. "I've laid out some clothes for you on the, bed. There's another towel at the end. I'll get the wine warmed once I have this settled."

"It's not considered polite to laugh at a man, you know," Inigo chides with a gentle tease and a broad smile. He shivers slightly as his damp skin is exposed to the air, even warmed some as it is inside the tent and then again under her attentions. "Ever so poor," he murmurs, pursing his lips in a sympathetic pout he doesn't feel at all. He bends over to unfasten his muddy boots, hopping out of them and leaving them by the entrance so he doesn't track mud further in. "Thank you," he says, still dripping a little as he undoes the laces of his trousers on his way to the bed. It's a mildly awkward affair to remove the rest of his clothing, sticking to his skin as it is, but he gets it off and tosses it a bit carelessly in the direction of 'to be dried'. Boys. The dry clothing is greeted with much more appreciation.

<FS3> Sofya rolls Alertness: Success.

"You would not care for me if I stopped laughing. My apologies though, my Ser," Sofya answers sweetly, pivoting in a quick step as she moves around him. The dark haired retainer is all flared skirts and quick smiles, crinkling her nose as she scoops up the sodden clothing. She has just gotten the top half of his garb hung when the trousers come sailing her way, managing to snatch them out of the air before they hit her with a grin. They are promptly hung on the drying rack. To be dried. Boys. Still smiling she casts a look over her shoulder at Inigo, "Do you want the wine now or after you're garbed?"

"True. I will just have to bear laughter at my expense sometimes, since the world would be a sadder, darker place without the sunny sound." Inigo lays it on a little thick for a moment, pausing a beat to add, "Although I might enjoy the quiet…" Teasing, he grins toothily and at his retainer, apparently having lost the cranky mood along with his clothing. Nice catch, there, by the way. The tall man clicks his tongue at Sofya's question, trying to repress a smile and failing. "Wine now? One might think you are trying to seduce me with talk like that." So said, he slides into the dry pair of trousers…with a little extra stretch and show. You're welcome.

The sound rings out again, warm and bright. She wags a finger at Inigo, cocking a hip as she regards him with amusement. "I'm sure you'd find some way to fill the silence without it," Sofya retorts, grin wide and toothy. Like talking. To himself. Endlessly. She really doesn't need to finish her implication, so long as they have known one another. Her dark brows rise at his remark, one slipping higher than the other as the cock of her hip becomes a little more pronounced and she sashays towards the wine. "Wine, now. Do you wish to be seduced, my Ser? I'm certain I could find someone that meets your requirements." Deft hands pour the wine, catching that liiiittle bit of extra stretch and show with a smirk. Thank you. Really.

"I cannot fathom what you might be inferring about my person," Inigo replies, playing the innocent and baffled. It doesn't work. They've known each other far too long for him to not know exactly what she means. Look, he has a lot of important things to say and he just can't hold them in irregardless of whether anyone is around to hear them or not. Obviously. Or maybe he just has a bad habit of thinking out-loud when alone or with casual company. As she sashays across the tent he watches, chuckling quietly. "Oh, you are certain, hm?" He questions, lightly challenging with a raise of brows and a crooked curve of smile.

Sofya flashes Inigo a smile so sweet it could melt teeth, teeth flashing as it slips into a grin after a moment and utterly loses its innocence. Far too long. If he does have all the important things to say, at the very least he has her around to hear them as he fills any silence with them. Obviously. She knows that he is watching, adding an extra bit of swing to her sets as she saunters back his way with the glass of wine. "Positive, my Ser," she answers cheerfully, looking up at him from under dark lashes as she extends the glass. "There are always whores around."

Oh no, teeth-melting smiles. Inigo pouts in an expression she is familiar enough with to know it means 'that's not fair'. Then he just laughs as she grins. Far too long. Well, what is the point of sashaying around if you aren't going to attract any attention, right? He directs his gaze up a bit more, still smiling, and accepts the wine with an honest thanks. Then, familiarly, he gestures back where the rest of the wine is meaning 'help yourself too, if you'd like'. It's a lot for a simple gesture, but it's been well-enough used over years. "Of course. Although it seems almost cruel to drag one out into this weather." He is exaggerating, of course. It is bad rain, but really.

The wine settled in his grasp, Sofya lifts a hand to give his arm a light familiar squeeze in thanks or just companionship. It's paired with another of her sunny smiles, crinkling the corners of her eyes. She does move back to the bottle, although with less pointedly sensual saunter to her walk, pouring herself a glass of wine and taking a sip. "For you, I'd brave the storm," she replies with a grin. Her and the whore.

The shift of Inigo's smile as Sofya gives his arm a squeeze is subtle, but it becomes soft instead of bright, genuine instead of teasing. The expression is kind and fond, with a warmth in his large brown eyes. You're welcome and thank you, all at once. He drinks some of his wine while she pours a glass for herself. "I appreciate the offer," he replies honestly. "But I am even less inclined to send you back out there…especially as you were lucky enough to escape the worst of it already."

It is met with a subtler shift in Sofya's own expression, although the brightness in her eyes does not fade, letting honest emotion shift through spotless effervescence. Fondness and trust returned in kind, warm as the wine in their throats and stomachs. "I'll be going out much later, if it keeps up like this," she admits, taking another sip of her wine as she moves towards where he stands. "Just to check on the horses." She settles on the edge of the cot, perching casually with the wine in hand.

Inigo lifts his wine glass in a shallow toasting gesture at her, and then takes another drink. He mulls over Sofya's comment about the horses, clearly having some sort of internal debate about it before he finally decides, "Yes, that would be for the best. But be sure to take a raincloak." The advice is followed by a scrunching of his face. He can't believe he said that, so obvious and mothering.

"Yes, Ser Mother," Sofya teases impishly, patting the space on the bed next to her. Since he's dry and all now. She lifts her glass in a returning toast, taking another drink of it herself.

"You are terrible," Inigo scolds without any actual heat. "For that, I should just keep looking over you. Make you have to look up at me and get a crick in your neck," he threatens, setting his shoulders. Except he knows that won't work anyway, not for long at least. He settles onto the bed with a care for not spilling any wine. "You know…I seem to have found myself dragging you around again despite a claim that we would be staying in one place for awhile."

"Horrible," Sofya agrees easily, taking his harsh words clearly to heart. "I am constantly looking up to you, though. I fail to see how that is much different." He is quite tall and above her in station as well. It's all upward in his direction. "It's alright," she says softly, balancing her cup on her knee. "Your family sent you to see to the Terricks, but missing the Tourney would not have been in good taste." Such is life.

So harsh. Inigo doesn't have much of a counter to Sofya's point about looking upwards at him, either way, and is forced to concede the point more or less. "I will have to think of a better punishment," he murmurs, tapping his cup with a finger. "No, neither good taste nor much fun to be left behind," he agrees. "It's too bad the weather is less than welcoming."

Terrible. That is what she is. "I am sure you'll have no trouble thinking of one if you put that exceptional mind of yours to it, my Ser," she suggests gently, fingers playing at the stem of her glass. Sofya dips her head in a nod, looking up at the roof of the tent and listening to the rain that is hammering down. "To say the least. Is it fun? To ride in the tourney, that is. It all looks very gallant from the sidelines."

"Naturally," Inigo agrees, sounding quite self-assured about his mind. Not that Sofya has any reason to worry. His personal flaws have never tended towards punishing needlessly, even when his temper has gotten the best of him. Sipping his wine, he stretches his legs out in front of him and considers the question. "I will admit some of the appeal is in looking gallant," he replies with a small smile. "It is fun…fun and terrifying. You know the thrill of riding." He glances at her, mildly conspiratorial. "You ride, fast and steady with as much control as you can muster, while another man does the same, bearing down on you with his lance and every intention to strike a solid blow. Even with armor you feel that blow, great as it is. And you know what is likely coming and you stare him down anyway."

"You are so very good at looking gallant," Sofya offers fondly, taking another a little sip of her wine as she leans in closer to listen. It is one of his stronger traits. Looking dapper. The long line of her grin turns conspiratorial; she does know the thrill of riding. Slate coloured eyes dark with interest, she listens to Inigo's explanation with a relish that she rarely shows for the event itself. "And try not to flinch," she surmises quietly.

Inigo sits up a little straighter for a moment. "Thank you," he says since the compliment came without teasing and doesn't continue with any teasing or posturing himself, as he often does. "Yes, you absolutely do not want to flinch." Seeing her interest, he continues to say, "Aside from the obvious tarnishing of your bravery, you are likely to miss with your lance. They are large weapons, long at least, but you are trying to hit a moving target while moving yourself and you might be surprised what a difference it can make to have you lance just a little off the mark."

Smiling slowly, Sofya dips her head in a nod as she watches him from under the shade of her lashes. You are welcome. Inigo’s further explanation is heard with thoughtful silence. Proving herself as attentive a listener as any teller of tales could hope, sipping her wine solemnly as she considers it. “Gods forbid you sneeze,” she finally offers after a thoughtful silence, a sunny grin twitching across her features at the thought. “It really is an impressive display of skill. I look forward to seeing you ride.”
She has had years of experience listening, no doubt Sofya has gotten very good at it. Or, in some cases, gotten good at appearing to listen when what is being said is less interesting. Inigo drags two fingers thoughtfully along the line of his jaw and the short bristle there. He takes a drink of wine, then laughs as he removes the glass from his lips, narrowly avoiding sputtering. "You have been set a hard path indeed if you sick or prone to sneezing while jousting. End up unhorsing yourself, at worst," he jokes with a crooked grin that sobers a bit as he nods. "I hope it is worth seeing."

“Terribly embarrassing, you really could never show your face on the circuit again. That would be the best time to be the mystery assailant, really,” Sofya crows with laughter, tapping her leg lightly. Smile bright, she takes another drink of her wine and chances sputtering considering the topic. Inigo’s sober expression leads her to lean in slightly, brushing her shoulder against his companionably. “There are some truly spectacular jousters here or so I hear. Ride hard and true and you’ll acquit yourself admirably, my Ser. If you should lose, there is no shame in that. It isn’t as if you’re riding against a woman.” Her smile quirks crookedly, recalling that bit of Riverlands gossip. “I’ll be on the sidelines, cheering. So try not to hurt your lovely face?”

"I will have to examine the other knights for colds. If they sneeze themselves off their own horse, maybe I can claim that I am so mighty I do not even have to touch my opponent?" Inigo suggests with a lift of his brows and a grin. He is obviously well aware of how ridiculous and practically impossible that situation would be, if funny. He bumps his shoulder lightly back against hers. "I will do my best, of course." He is not one of the spectacular jousters, those knight who've made a name for themselves in the tilt. He does laugh shortly, taking a sip of wine before responding. "Thank gods, no, no women. I can't imagine that happening again." With one finger, he taps his crooked nose. "Maybe it would fix this?" No? "I will do my best not to hurt myself, in particular my face, so that you do not have to look upon my ugly visage."

Sofya laughs, covering her wine reddened lips, at that. “That could do nothing but help your reputation, although I think their sniffles might not help your fearsome might?” That is completely ridiculous, impossible, and delightfully funny. Sliding her tongue against her teeth, she settles against him after recovering from the light bump. “If it looks fair and slim…” Don’t joust it. Leaning back, she cocks her head to the side to regard his crooked nose that was broken so long ago. “It might, but I rather like it. The angle lends a certain distinguished character to your otherwise lovely features.” It is a nose that says he has lived. No. It would probably make it worse. “More so I don’t have to listen to you complain, my Ser. You’d make a break out of a bruise and we both know it.”

"I hear sniffles will happen when you cry," Inigo asides with a superior air that lasts only a moment before he's grinning again at the ridiculousness of it all. Chuckling quietly as he looks into his wineglass, he never-the-less provides a sturdy surface to lean against. "I had better be careful to not insult some pretty boy." No one who isn't a woman wants to be mistaken for one. "Do you?" He wonders then arches a brow at the second use of 'lovely' to describe him. It's true, though, that he'd be more likely to end up with a increasingly mangled face than a miraculously straight nose again. "Ouch. You wound me with your cutting words. I suspect I may not see much of you tomorrow, if that is how you feel. Tch."

"Do you not want me around tomorrow?" Sofya asks, sounded positively wounded at that thought, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “I’ll have to find some other knight to go and fawn over." Such a shame. It must be a tease, since she seems to be in no particular hurry seated in her comfortable position with a glass of wine. “Best be careful with who you refuse to duel, though. Yes. You’d hate to insult a Frey.” They never forget a slight those Freys.

She is as unwanted as she is in a hurry. Which is to say, she's wanted. "Be still, fair maiden," Inigo replies with a quiet laugh and a grin to go along with his teasing wink. "I think it would be very strange without you there," he muses with more honest and less joking around. "I will restrain my insults to those who are less likely to be able to strike back at me," he promises. He actually has no intention of insulting anyone, but sometimes these things just…happen.

“Then my heart will steady so to cheer you on,” Sofya returns, words pretty as a ballad and accompanied by a flutter of her dark lashes. Her fair maiden impersonation only goes so far before she answers his laugh with a quiet chuckle all her own. “You’d miss half the gossip I collect from the crowd. Besides, that temporary squire they’ve found for you couldn’t find his ass in a shithouse,” she notes with a sniff. Not nearly good enough care. “Do try.” Those things do just…happen.

Two can play at that, obviously. Inigo twists so that he is facing Sofya with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a smile that is repressed quickly so that he is looking at her with big, dark eyes, all sincerity and earnestness. "Then my own heart will be lifted my your presence," he assures, taking her free hand gently in his. "Lifted of burden, I shall fly down the field, lance as steady and aim as true as my heart." So spoken, he places a light kiss to the back of his retainer's hand. Releasing her hand from his warm hold, he lifts his head again with a brilliant grin on his face, amused with himself. "I would miss the gossip," he admits and then huffs and drinks some wine. "Too busy gawking at all the knights. He's forgotten he has an ass at all." Boys. "I do try."

Sofya is remarkably composed as Inigo lifts her hand and speaks such words of passion and devotion, slate hued gaze betraying her silent amusement. The hint of a smile touches the corner of her mouth as he places that light kiss on her hand. “Been practicing, my Ser? I think you’re quite ready to fetch a new Lady’s favor…if you’re willing to chance the downpour for such a thing,” she opines wryly, gesturing towards the tent flap with her wine bearing hand. The dry cast of her expression is quickly broken with a sunny smile. “Yes, you would.” She sips her wine and nods at this assessment of the lad. “Too young to be gawking at the ladies at least? Less trouble.” Boys. “I appreciate it.”

"Practicing insinuates that this does not come naturally," Inigo says to the person who's known him most of his life and thus knows it does not come naturally. At least, not entirely. "Maybe if the rain lets up," he murmurs into his wine glass as he takes another drink without a great deal of enthusiasm and looks off towards his drying clothing. Imitating a human puddle once today was enough, thank you. "No, he will be dreaming of shining armor and honorable battles a time yet before the ladies turn his head," he murmurs a bit dryly. "You are welcome, then."

“Well, I wouldn’t want to insinuate,” Sofya drawls in such a way that it is clear that she does not need to insinuate. There might have been a few times she caught him doing just that, practicing. She takes a final sip of her wine, draining the remains of her glass with a tip of her hand.. “It will have to let up eventually. You can just stay in here and dry off for a bit. Warm up,” she directs, rising to feet and brushing a hand down her skirts to set them to rights. “I’m going to make sure the lad hasn’t forgotten about the horses in his dreams of shining armor.”

Those would have been some embarrassing times, likely with him denying he was doing any such things. Inigo mutters something unintelligible into his wine glass. "I have every intention of staying right here unless I have to move," he assures, swiveling to kick up his feet and assume a lazy sprawl as Sofya vacates her seat. "Be careful," he says by way of farewell for her intention to check on the horses. No doubt when she returns she'll find him tucked up cozily with one of his books to pass the time…and a dry towel waiting for her by the entrance.