|That Costs Extra|
|Summary:||Senna stops by the Oldstones campsite to visit with Alek.|
|Related Logs:||Not directly|
|With a tent and stuff.|
|February 1, 289|
Compared to the bustle of other camps, the Valentin campsite is smaller, quieter. Tucked away from the others, it affords Alek privacy where he sits in front of his own tent, bent over the sharp steel of his sword. The warm of the day lingers on his skin, his chest bared as he works at buffing the nicks from his weapon with a stone curled in one hand. Blonde hair catches at the sun as he shifts, running a careful eye along the edge of the steel with a satisfied release of breath.
Senna has been a very busy girl in the aftermath of battle. For several days, she's barely slept, keeping watch over patients and making sure they don't slip away from their wounds. Now, though, those who were going to die have done so, and those who aren't going to die are on the mend. And given the chance, she's made her way away from the main body of the camp, to somewhere with a little more peace and quiet. Finding Alek there, she pauses, then starts that way, watching him work the sword. "You look remarkably healthy, Blacksword," she observes.
"Disappointed, mistress?" Alek drawls, humor warm in the curve of his lips even as he lifts his attention away from the sword to focuse fully on Senna. There is a weight to the slide of his gaze across her, taking in the details of hard-work without comment. "You know you are welcome in my tent even without the excuse."
"Relieved," Senna laughs softly, moving to sit cross-legged next to him without any pretense. "I think if I saw another injured man, I might just collapse." For some reason, her lips quirk at his latter words, a glimmer of humor in her eyes. "I don't suppose you've been hiding a feather bed in there?"
Only a single hand left to balance his sword carelessly in his lap, Alek frees his other to twine fingers gently into Senna's dark curls, playfully musing them before he runs fingertips gently against her scalp. "No feather bed, but my sleeping arrangements are at least mostly clean," he replies.
Senna's eyes drift closed at the touch, a soft purr deep in her throat. "I'm beginning to forget what clean feels like," she muses. "One of these days I'll get back somewhere they actually have baths and enjoy myself." She seems content to lean against him for the moment, sighing softly. "Enjoy yourself in the battles?"
"There's always the river. You could enjoy yourself here," Alek murmurs quietly, continuing to rake his fingers through her hair without care for discussion of cleanliness. "For the most part, they went as expected. Neither Gedeon nor Lord Valentin died, though I did not get a fair chance at Ser Harras, either." His shrug is a soft, aborted thing so as not to disturb Senna from where she finds comfort.
Senna's hair is clean, at least, and still smells faintly of fresh herbs and lavender. "Ah, but the river isn't /hot/," she muses at his suggestion. "And besides," she adds, wrinkling her nose, "I'd have to go twenty miles upriver to get away from the filth of the host in it." She twists a bit, looking back up at him. "You made it out clean, though, which is more than many can say. Though it's a disappointing campaign as far as looting goes," she allows. "Damned reavers made off with all the good stuff."
Laughter catches in Alek's throat as he shakes his head in slow disappointment, relaying warmly, "I suppose you are going to keep shooting down all of my suggestions today of time we could spend alone?" His fingers still, thumb brushing briefly across the smooth skin of Senna's forehead to catch at a lock of hair and pull it away from her face. "I've found what I've needed. Enough wine that the Ironborn missed or thought to stash for future days."
"Oh, was that your goal?" Senna asks with too-practiced innocence, belied by the low laugh that follows. "Ah, but you never want to pay for it, Blacksword. You seem to think it's enough that you're good at it. And pretty." It's hard to tell if that's an actual objection, teasing, or just weariness talking.
"I would never insult you, my fair mistress, by offering coin for your company. I could not place a price on your time," Alek replies in a slow, easy drawl, his smile a crooked thing as he leans closer to brush a kiss to the corner of Senna's lips.
Senna laughs again, though she doesn't shy away from the kiss. "That's why women like gifts, Coope," she murmurs, turning slightly to claim another brush of lips and reaching up a hand to tangle her fingers in his hair. There's a brief tug, and then she turns away again, letting the strands slip through her fingers. "Or gossip. Heard anything interesting lately?" she asks, arching a brow with a faint smile.
"Nothing that held much interest to retain. I doubt you've escaped the waves of gossip about the nobles camped with us, especially once they start allowing their wives at war," Alek answers dismissively, though not without the trace of disapproval for noble women occupying the military camp. (Nobles be crazy, yo.) "I will find you a gift worthy of you when we take the Iron Isles."
"It's strange, right? That's not just me?" Senna says in regards to noblewomen in the camp. "I mean. Don't get me wrong, I'm exceedingly grateful to have Lady Flint here just as another pair of hands to see to the wounds. But something tells me they weren't exactly prepared for the possibility that we might not have /won/ this engagement."
"Nevermind the distractions they cause. I have not even met those ladies that occupy my camp, and yet my fellow soldiers divide their attention just by having them present," is all simple agreement, a huff of a breath almost like a sigh as Alek leans away from Senna only to replace his sword and secure it properly.
"Not to mention how unfair it is that some people get some every night and don't even have to pay for it." Senna tries to deadpan that, but rather fails, twisting to watch him as he replaces his sword. "So it's on to the Isles themselves next, then," she muses, shifting to draw one knee up toward her chest and settling her chin on it. "Have you ever fought from a ship, Blacksword?"
Alek only laughs, the sound giving neither approval nor disagreement to Senna's statement where he turns back to the woman. "I tried once in Braavos, but I only ended up cutting myself. I do not look forward to the prospect that we may have to engage anywhere other than on land," he admits wryly, raking his hair back with a self-deprecating smile.
Senna wrinkles her nose at the prospect. "Well," she muses. "At least there will be fewer injuries to treat. And maybe a little more looting to be had. What's the sense in a war if there isn't any profit, after all?" she asks with a small smile.
Despite Senna's presence during this campaign, Alek pulls back with a tension to his jaw as he replies reasonably, "You cannot go to the Iron Isles. It will be a full out war, no where that you could retreat if the tides turn badly on us."
"I had absolutely no intention of going to the Iron Isles," Senna replies without a pause. "For /exactly/ those reasons. Also, because you can't run away from a sinking ship." She looks toward the city, thoughtful for a moment, then shakes her head. "I imagine I'll remain here, if this is where the troops will mass. It's also where they're most likely to ship back the injured afterwards."
Relief is a flickering, subtle thing where it touches grey eyes briefly, obscured by the boyish grin that Alek offers. "Good. You'd make a terrible saltwife," he muses in dry humor. "I may leave here shortly soon, myself. Return to somewhere where there is wine and a real bed until the lords are ready to move."
"I'd make an /excellent/ saltwife," Senna sniffs indignantly. "I cook, I clean, I heal, and I can make even a camp bed an enjoyable place. All of which you know, of course," she adds, flicking her fingers dismissively. "But I'd rather not be one. The thing about wives of any sort is that they don't exactly have the freedom to travel and do as they please, and I rather value those things." And there he is mentioning real beds again, which brings a soft sigh as she reaches up to pop her neck. "Although I'd like to freely travel to somewhere with actual beds, too. Maybe once the injured are a bit more whole again and need less attention."
"It will be very sad to leave you," Alek assures her as he captures a hand in one quick gesture, thumb dragging over knuckles as he glances towards the tent before turning an easy smile back on Senna. "Perhaps we should make the most of the time we have."
"Sad, indeed," Senna laughs, rolling her eyes at that smile. "You'd best take care not to get any scars on that pretty face, Alek Coope," she sighs as he takes her hand, reaching up with her free hand to trace a finger down his nose. "It's the best thing you've got going for you." She eyes the tent as well, considering for a long moment. Finally, she turns back to him, leaning up and catching his chin between her fingers to press a long, slow kiss that is…Well. Full of promises.
"Not the only thing," Alek reminds in a murmur against her lips, his hand already claiming her waist and pulling her closer with a press of fingertips through fabric. Given the openness of camp, however small Oldstones may be, he does not take long in leading Senna into said tent for the night.
Senna slips an arm around his neck, lingering in that kiss…Right up until he starts toward the tent. She laughs then, a soft sound, and draws back to shake her head. "Come see me with something interesting before you leave and we'll finish that thought," she murmurs, catching his lower lip between her teeth to give it a slow pull before she slips away. "Sleep tight, Blacksword," she calls over her shoulder, putting a little extra sway in her step as she walks away.