|Date:||23 June 2012|
|Related Logs:||Other Vark logs.|
|A small tent on the edge of the Terrick camp facing a grassy clearing.|
|Friday 22 June 289|
It's getting on late into the evening, and Veris is sitting just outside his tent on a little stool still working away. It can't be Ser Hardwicke's equipment, though, since he's got a halberd laid across his lap that he's turning over and inspecting. Mumble mumble, wipe wipe with a rag, mumble, reach blindly for the cup down by his foot - which he knocks over. "Ffffffuck," he groans slowly when it tips over ever so slowly beyond his slightly drunken grasping and gets all over his boot.
"Isn't that one of the sure signs y've had enough? When you can't pick up the mug?" Lark asks, her tone gentle and merry as she invites herself into his camp.
"I wasn't looking, was what," Veris protests, standing up and shaking off his boot. He doesn't fall over, though he does stagger a bit, so he can't be that drunk. "But I only got so much more left, can't be standin' to waste a half cup like that." The boot gets dragged this way and that through the grass and dirt to try to get as much wine off it as he can, the horizontally-held halberd swinging wildly side to side as he pivots.
Lark takes a few judicious steps back, making sure she's well outside the halberd's arc. "Maybe it's time to put away the sharp things," she suggests, all sweet reason.
"Eh?" Veris looks her way. "Oh. Right." Probably not a good thing to forget, the fact that you're holding a weapon. He plants the butt of the staff into the ground by his tent (where it promptly falls over) and holds out his hands. "See? 'sall safe. Not like I was gonna skewer you." Though he can't help the leery look that follows with the unspoken words - he could skewer you if you'd like. iykwimaityd.
Lark's eyes follow the halberd as it falls. TIMBER. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh, and takes Very's hands, leaning up to peck his cheek. "Preparing for the squire's melee?"
Veris smiles with the peck - it's a start. "Tryin' to, I was. But can't see much to do any proper work with the glare an' all, so." He shrugs, pointing vaguely at the setting sun. "Burnt all my sunlight workin' on Ser Hardwicke's gear. Squire's melee ain't for another couple days still." He steals a glance at her with a boyish grin. "You'll be cheerin' for me, aye?"
"Well, of course. You're really the only squire I know." A smile tugs the corners of her lips. She glances back at him. "Also, I might like you. A bit. When you're not wearing the horns and being all handsy."
"Well of course you like me," Veris says with a lopsided grin. "I mean, come on. Right? Right?" He does a little turn for her, finishing off with a sweeping bow. "An' I was only handsy the once, but can you really blame me, little birdie? Comin' into my tent in the dark of night and pokin' me awake, I figured you wanted me to poke right back."
"Aye, I saw ample evidence of what you figured," Lark says, blushing as she gives his shoulder a little shove. Just a little one. Mindful of his precarious equilibrium. At least she called it ample, eh? Eh? She's smiling, though, when she glances up at him again. "Did you still want to escort me about? Lonnie's still under the weather."
The shove sends him stumbling back a few steps, but Veris regains his balance easily enough with a wink. "Are you sure you examined the evidence close enough?" he asks with a laugh. "You mighta missed some… interestin' details, like." At least his crudeness is mostly joking now. "Shrill harpy's got herself a sore throat from shriekin' so much, has she?" he asks. "Well sure, if you need a tall an' handsome man to show you 'round."
Lark snorts. "I have four brothers. Believe me, there's nothing you have that I haven't seen b'fore." She thwacks his side. "Stop speaking ill of Lonnie. Just because she wasn't eager to hop into your cot or leave me alone for you to ruin — that's a stupid reason to have your nose out of joint."
Veris eyes Lark, making a face when she thwacks his side. "Well she obviously didn't stop you from checkin' out your brothers' cocks, so how eager can she really be?" He pokes teasingly at her ribs. "Well I can't help it that you two come as a set. Little birdie and shriekin' harpy. That's just who you are."
"Don't be vile," Lark huffs, rolling her eyes. She pokes back. "I mean it, Very. She's my cousin and I love her, so stop calling her that."
"I'm not vile," Veris says with a half-drunk laugh which the poke turns into almost a giggle. "Oh all right, fine, I'll stop. She'd probably try to strangle me if I ever said that to her face, anyhow. What'dja say her name was? Alanda? Alania?"
"You certainly can be," Lark retorts, eyeing him. She looks marginally mollified as he agrees to her request. "Alona," she says.
"Joking ain't vile," Veris defends himself, though he goes back into his tent while he does it. "Especially not if the joke's funny." Sound logic, there. He returns in timely fashion, brandishing more wine. Wherever he appropriated it from. "Alona, right. And Lark." He points to her with the wine pitcher and keeps it held out if she wants some. "Lark Chanson. The little birdie."
"When you're funny, I'll let you know what I think," says Lark, dryly withholding judgment. When he returns with the wine, she takes a sip. Just to be polite. "Alona and Lark," she affirms, smirking. "Right."
"Oh sure, 'cause you're gonna be the judge of my humor," Veris drawls with a snort. "So you don't think Alona'll mind if I escort you instead of her, huh? Or if you cheer loudly for me at the squire's melee? Oh, I know!" He pushes the wine pitcher on her to free up his hands so he can play out his words. "You can be on this side, here, and I'll have my back to you, and if some of them dirty squires try to team up on me, you stand up and flash 'em!"
Lark stares at him for a moment. Then snrrrks and takes another drink of wine. "That's ridiculous," she giggles.
"No, it'll totally work!" Veris says excitedly from his hunched-over, backed-into-a-corner pose. "See, this guy's comin' at me with a sword and that guy's got a hammer. An' just right when they're about to lunge on me, I'll look back over my shoulder at you, an' that'll make 'em look too, and…" He gestures to Lark so she can play out her part. It's a battle rehearsal, serious business!
Lark — just really doesn't do that. Or even looks like she feels moved to. She just looks at him skeptically, drinks again, and hands him the wine. "You're addlepated."
"I don't know what that means, so I might well be," Veris says with a chuckle, giving up the charade with a 'gotta try, right?' shrug. His fallen mug gets snatched up on his way over and holds it out to her for a refill. "So, escort, eh?" he asks. "Gotta protect that precious cargo." He could easily be referring to the bosom he just failed to see or her delicious cookies.
"I think I'm relatively safe," says Lark, her cheeks a bit flushed with wine. After three swallows? Woo! Cheap date. She sits on the stool he'd occupied before. "No one really bothered me today, and I was mostly on my own. But still — it's not proper for me to wander around alone. And I promised my aunt and uncle." She smooths the apron of her smock over her knees. "But I thought it might be nice to spend time with you."
"Well you thought right," Veris says with a grin, plopping down cross-legged beside the stool. "I know how to show a girl a good time." Or at least a drunk time. He clinks his mug against the pitcher she still holds, 'accidentally' brushing her apron back up with his arm as he does.
She lowers her lashes, balancing the pitcher in her lap. There's a moment of hesitation, then she takes another little sip from the pitcher. After all, they just toasted — something, right? To not drink would be rude. She nudges him with her knee. "So where should we go, tomorrow?"
"Where'er you want, little birdie," Veris answers with a laugh, taking a good drain of that wine - swallowing down a solid half cup in one big gulp. "Seagard's massive. And the tourney grounds're huge too. Could go down by the water, maybe, if you haven't been yet." He's getting mumblier. She's not the only cheap date in town!
Lark smiles and leans down to kiss his forehead. "Down by the water sounds nice," she murmurs. "You should probably get to bed."
Aww, another kiss. Veris looks up at her with a goofy, not-all-there grin. "Missed again," he teases, head swaying from side to side. It bumps up against her knee as it does. "Youprollygettobed," he mumbles at her, reaching for… something in her direction and missing. That reminds him he still has a perfectly good drink in his other hand, so he drains it off. "I ain't even sleepy. Unless you're feelin' sleepish."
Lark giggles despite herself, slipping her arms beneath his to help him to his feet. "You're on the verge of passing out cold," she says softly. "Come on. I'll help you."
Veris 'lets' Lark help him up, though he almost loses his footing on the way up. "No - I'm not," he protests, though he can clearly barely keep his eyes open, whether it's from the drink or the late hour or just from all the excitement of the day. He does love his sleep. Mumbling under his breath, he lets Lark guide him into his tent as she will. "Cot's big enough for two'll keep you warm," he says, running two sentences into one. The first one's definitely not true - the cot's barely big enough for him, leaving his feet and one of his arms dangling over the edge when he lies down in it.
She gets him settled into the cot and tugs off his boots, smirking with rueful dimples at the squire all akimbo in his bed. The covers are tugged up over him and tucked around him. "Good night, Very," she says softly.
For all her effort and care, Lark's goodnight call is answered with a quiet, "Mm," which is then followed by a few deep breaths crescendoing into a consistent rolling snore. But there's a small but unmistakably dopey smile on Very's face as he fades into sleep.