|Summary:||Lark visits Veris in the middle of the night.|
|Date:||18 June 2012|
|Related Logs:||I Did It All for the Cookies|
|It smells of ale and sex.|
|Mon 18 Jun 289|
Dreams. Sweet dreams. Of giggling, buxom, doe-eyed beauties — three of them — all of which somehow fit on his lap. And ale. Somehow, they keep serving him ale, but never have to stop kissing him to fetch it. Nor he to drink it. Truly, if there's a paradise the Seven intend for good men, Veris Kallan has done something right. But… it's possible one of the wenches may need to be evicted from his lap. She's no longer quite so pleasing. She keeps poking him in the shoulder with a very pointy finger, and demanding he —
Veris is giggling in his sleep again - occasionally muttering and moving his arms, but mostly just giggling. And who could blame him with a dream like that? But then one of the girls starts poking him inexplicably, continually prodding at his shoulder - ow - until the dream fades into a soon-forgotten haze and he flails his arms in his cot, waving off his assailant. "Whaddayawaaaaaant," he whines into his pillow, one eye cracking open a hair to see if the sun is even out yet. All he can make out is the silhouette of Lark, not her face or the rest of her. "Leemelone."
The sun is not even a little up, and it's rather chilly. Lark sighs impatiently. And pokes his shoulder. "Put some clothes on and come outside!" she whispers. It's not the sweet whisper a lad would like to hear from a girl who's snuck in his tent in the middle of the night. In fact, it's rather bossy.
"What?" Veris groans, annoyance in his voice. "Ahh! Fuck, stop doing that!" That last poke to the shoulder has him fully awake from the pain - awake enough to register that it's a girl's voice speaking to him. "Wh - li'l birdie?" He squints into the darkness and reaches out with a hand to see if she's actually there or if this is part of his drunk dream. Of course, his hand isn't exactly aimed at appropriate places. "No, take your clothes off and c'mere," he retorts. Grabbyhands.
Grabby hands get smacked! SMACK, SMACK! "STOP that!" she whispers, all prim and shocked. "I'll do no such thing." She hops back out of reach, smacking at anything that pursues.
Grabbygrabbygrabbyhands. "You don't gotta act all proper with me," Veris slurs, continuing to reach for her to try to pull her to him. "Show up in my tent in the dead of night all touchy and whispering, I know whatcha came here for. You wanna sheathe my sword. Take a spin on my spear." The last reach leaves him leaning too far off his cot, and the whole thing goes crashing to the ground, Very and all. And sure enough, underneath that light blanket, he isn't wearing much of anything.
Lark just sort of… stares at the pile of naked squire near her feet. And takes a judicious step back, in case he decides to get grabby about her ankles. "Uh. No." She sighs. "But at least you're up now." She turns on her heel to duck out of the tent, apparently trusting him to follow. When he has some pants on.
Veris is… up, and he doesn't make any move to cover it up. Instead, he just gestures to it and shrugs at her, giving her a 'why not' look. "Really? You sure?" he calls after her as she walks out. "Dammit, I thought I had her that time." Mumbling and muttering, he throws on some clothes (stubbing his toe on the fallen-over cot with an audible "Fuck" from inside the tent) and follows her out still looking pretty groggy. "What'dja wake me up for in the asscrack of night, then?" he asks, rubbing at his eyes. He likes his sleep.
The girl rolls her eyes. "Because Lonnie would kill me if she knew I were here." So, not only is she visiting his tent in the middle of the night, but she had to sneak away to do it, and — what does she want again? "Here." She hands him a little box and a small parchment bag. "Cookies," she tells him. "And paint. White, black, gold, and purple."
"Kill her back, then," Veris says simply, like it's the easiest solution in the world. Then all of a sudden he's got a box and a bag thrust upon him, and he looks confused about it. "I already - " He stops himself, giving her a sidelong glance. "Told you to bring cookies, didn't I?" he finishes, which doesn't make much sense at all. "Thanks." He sneaks out a cookie from the box, holding the bag under his arm, and takes an eager bite. "Whydja sneak away to bring me this stuff?"
The cookies are small, soft, and delicious, with chips of chocolate and toffee in them. "Because I said I would — or, I didn't say I wouldn't," Lark revises, recalling the correct order of things. "And I didn't want you to get in trouble with your Ser. For forgetting the paint."
Just one bite, and Veris is making mouth-gasm noises. "Mmm," he moans, and pops the rest of the cookie in without even finishing the bite first. "D'ja bake these really yourself?" he asks with his mouth full. "Oh, I gotta have another one." The second one gets eaten in one big bite. "I'd get in trouble for some other damn thing," he snorts in response to her explanation. "Ser Hardwicke's a hard man to please, Captain and all." Though the paint he was seeking was not for his Ser. SHHH.
Lark smiles shyly, trying not to actually beam at the appreciation of her cookies. "I did. I'm — only good at baking things, really." She nods. "Oh, Ser Hardwicke. I saw him at the joust. He seemed very… uhm… serious." She nods.
Veris gives her a sidelong glance, catching her shy smile which causes one to grow on his face as well. "Betcher good at other things, too, like," he says with a wink. Since he's awake now - mostly - he stretches and yawns, shaking off the sleep. "Chilly out here, eh? Want a blanket?" He's going back to his tent to grab one no matter how she answers, 'cause he wants one too. "Aye, serious is the word," he says when he returns, holding the blanket out for her. "But he's the best fightin' knight in the Riverlands. Maybe even in the Seven Kingdoms." Someone's got him a hero.
"I'm good at riddles?" Lark offers. Which… probably isn't what he meant. She accepts the blanket, though, and wraps it around her shoulders. "He does seem very skilled," she says of Ser Hardwicke, admiringly. "The joust was so exciting. Lonnie and I can't wait for the next one."
Veris snorts. Riddles? "You like the joust, eh?" he asks casually. And totally not suspiciously at all. "What'd you think of them mystery knights that showed up? Some interesting characters there, huh? All mysterious and that."
Lark beams. "Oh, yes! It's a shame we never learned who any of them were — though I suppose that means they'll all compete in the next round. And… well, maybe they'll do better!" She nods brightly.
"You never know, you might get to know someday," Veris says, trying to resist the urge to go for a third cookie and failing miserably. "I hope they do better. Makes it more fun when the mystery knights keep movin' on, y'know? But I'm happy Ser Jarod won. I used to squire for him, betcha didn't know that. When he was Captain back at the Roost."
"I didn't know that!" Lark confirms, smiling wide. "You must have a lot of potential, for two such fine Sers to both want you as their squire."
"I piss potential and shit excellence," Veris says, nodding to add weight to his cookie-dampened words. "I'm a good fighter. With a halberd, see, 'cause I'm good at handling long, thick shafts." After swallowing the cookie, he realizes how that could sound. "My own, I mean. Not - not what you were thinking."
Lark wrinkles her nose, giggling. "That's… quite an image." She scritches her cheekbone, pondering him. "That's all right. I knew what you were — going for. There." A beat. "Do you really want to fuck that badly, or is it just you don't know what else to do with a girl?"
Veris looks back at her with a raised brow. "I know what to do with a girl, little bird. I can show you, if you want." He jerks a thumb back to his tiny tent. "What, you're pretty enough and I'm a handsome catch what you can brag about to all your friends. I bet you could make 'em right jealous, too, when they see me go up for the squire's melee."
Really? She sighs. "That seems like a silly reason. I don't know anyone here, and I don't see why a girl would want to brag about something like that, anyways. It's not like boys are a challenge. You were trying to get me in bed before you even knew my name."
"You don't have to know people to brag to them," Veris says with infinite patience. "And I'm not a boy. Do I look like a boy to you?" He stands up tall and flexes his arms. If he had a collar to pop and a cap to wear backwards, he would probably do those too. "What've you got against fucking, anyway? I bet you've never even had a man 'tween your legs."
"Obviously!" squeaks Lark. "What kind of girl do you think I am?" She sighs. "I haven't got anything against it, it's just different for girls. You lot get to go and brag to your friends, every time you wet your wick. Girls just get looked on as slatternly."
"It's pronounced 'dick'," Veris corrects. Jokingly? "And like I said, you're pretty enough. And a young thing like you, well." He expects her to have had all sorts of men. "What in the hells is a slatternly? You're just makin' up words now." Shaking his head, he rubs his arms with his hands, trying to heat himself back up a bit. "So what do you think a man's supposed to do with a girl, then?"
"Oh, you know. Dirty. Like a whore," Lark attempts to define 'slatternly.' Like it's a bad thing. "Anyways, no one respects girls like that or treats them well. Not even you." She blinks. What's a man supposed to do with a girl? "What a ridiculous question! What you do with anyone else you're not hells-bent on fucking."
Dirty, like a whore? RELEVANT TO VERY'S INTERESTS. "Slatternly. Okay, fine. What's wrong with being a slatternly girl? Whores ain't dirty, they keep 'emselves nice an' clean. Well, some of 'em." There are some diiiiiirty whores out there in the cheaper brothels. "I show my proper respect to Ladies," he argues, not really landing on the right meaning of respect. "And I'm not hells-bent on fucking anyone, if a girl don't wanna play, there's plenty of others what will. No use getting all hung up on one."
"Fine," huffs Lark, folding her arms. "I don't want to play. Why are you even still talking to me?"
That catches Veris off-guard. "Well - I - you woke me up," he answers in bewilderment. "Why are you talking to me?"
"I don't know," says Lark, stomping her foot.
"Well I don't know either!" Veris says, not even sure why he's angry. It just seems like the thing to do. "Where are you even from, anyway? I don't remember seeing you around 'fore you decided to sneak up on me."
"Stonebridge," says Lark, after a few beats. Her arms are still folded and she still looks huffy, but… "I'm from Stonebridge. I'm just here for the week, visiting. And to see the tournament." She scuffs the dirt with her boot. "It's my first."
"Stonebridge? I was there when we were saving all them Ladies from the bandits," Veris says, glancing over to her then looking away again. His arms aren't crossed, but he's still rubbing at them for warmth, so it looks near the same thing. "You'd have more fun if you hadn't dragged that shrill harpy with you," he notes, meaning Alona. "You should come back without her next time."
"Were you?" Lark tilts her head, studying Veris in the darkness. "You must have done well. I heard all the ladies came home safe." As for Alona, she smirks faintly and shakes her head. "Lonnie isn't a shrill harpy. She just doesn't want some randy squire deflowering her naive little country cousin." She shrugs. Fair enough, right? "And I can't run around unescorted, you know. That's how girls get in trouble."
"I did what I could. The Sers did all the heavy work in the end." Veris is usually a braggart, so him shrugging off the praise to the knights is an uncommon thing. "I'll escort you," he says to Lark, turning to face her. "That's what knights are s'posed to do, aye? Then your Lonnie won't hafta worry about you, little birdie, and you can fly free awhile."
That coaxes a smile from her; she blushes, lashes lowering a moment. "You are exactly the thing my cousin worries about — or boys like you, anyways." She glances at him, then unwraps herself from the blanket and leans up to drape it around him, instead. "I should get back before I'm caught out."
"Well I can beat down the other lads like me," he says. "If you won't roll in the grass with me, it's not like you'll let 'em lay a finger on you either. Eh?" Very's brows rise in surprise when she puts the blanket around his shoulders, which brings her right close up to him. "I - " He hugs the blanket around him for warmth. "Um, yeah." He looks back at his tent. "S'pose I should get me back to sleep." He glances back at her. "Gonna wake me up tomorrow night too, eh? 'Cause if you are, I'll hafta start sleepin' more durin' the day."
Lark flashes a dimpled grin, glancing at him through her lashes. Eye tag! "I should let you sleep. It probably doesn't impress your Ser any to catch you napping on the job." She tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Thank you, though. For offering to escort me? That was very… gallant."
"Well… you know," Veris says, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. "A squire is a knight in trainin' and all, so." Dimples, big eyes, long lashes, DANGER. He looks down instead. "Oh, nothing impresses Ser Hardwicke. I could be one of the mystery knights and win the tourney and I don't think he'd so much as blink 'fore he told me to go 'bout my duties in that stern voice of his." He snorts a laugh and stifles a yawn. "You're… welcome? If you - need an escort, y'know, back to your tent." It's not a proper offer, but then again, nothing about Veris is particularly proper.
She only shakes her head a little, taking a step back. "Good night, Very," she says, softly. "Enjoy the cookies."
Well, so much for that plan. Very smiles wryly and waves a blanketed hand. "Night, little birdie." He's already half-asleep again as he trudges back to his tent. "Thanks for the stuff." He goes to flop down on his cot again, and maybe - just maybe - resume the dream he was abruptly awoken from. But he's forgotten that his cot's knocked over, so he flops onto the legs instead, jabbing himself in the ribs and thudding onto the wet ground with a grunt. "Fuuuuuuuuuck," he groans. Just a perfect way to end the night.