|Three-Ways And Hairstyles|
|Summary:||Senna and Rowenna have a late-night chat in the Nayland camp.|
|Related Logs:||The one that happens before this.|
|Nayland Camp — Seagard|
|Tents and stuff.|
|June 23, 289|
It's late. Quite late. A bit closer to morning than it is to night, actually, and Rowenna Nayland has dragged out a sparring dummy, set it up just outside camp, and is — with great finesse and skill, despite the bottle in her other hand — going Braavosi on its straw-stuffed ass. Her growing-out dark curls are down, tumbling all akimbo to her chin. She wears a lovely gown of blood-orange silk. And she's cussing like a sailor. "Take that you puss-sucking, weeping cunt-sore. I hope your hair catches fire," she tells the dummy. And drinks.
It isn't unusual for Senna to be around the camp at the wee hours of the morning, checking in on one thing or another. It's a bit more unusual to catch Rowenna at her…sparring, though. Senna herself is just returning from somewhere, swathed in a dark cloak as she approaches the camp. "Excellent form, my lady," she calls softly as she approaches, amusement rich in her voice. "I think the drink's done a number on your wrist flexibility, though."
Rowenna laughs ruefully, a chuffing exhalation of breath. "You're very observant, mistress," she notes with approval. She sheaths her blade and sits — floomp — in a big poof of silk, right where she was standing. She tilts the bottle back and forth, then corks it with a sigh. "I don't think I need any more." It's a morose observation. Like she's not allowed to have fun. She thrusts the bottle out in Senna's direction. "Want some?"
"I won't turn it down," Senna replies easily, reaching out to take the bottle and settling down next to the Nayland lady. "Surely you aren't this drunk over Rafferdy, are you?" With a practiced pull, she pops the cork from the bottle, then takes a measured sip herself. "Seems a waste of something rather good."
Rowenna groans, shaking her head. "Ah, fuck. I'd forgotten about Rafferdy," she smirks at Senna. "Thanks for the reminder, though." She sighs. "No. Raff is going to hate me, but I did what I had to. For him. And the family. It might make for unpleasant holiday dinners, but — our family has always been complicated." She shakes her head. "No. I'm simply… an idiot. I thought… I was just beginning to get my feet under me, you know? Figure out… maybe I could be a lady, when a lady's called for… and a knight, when a knight's called for. Like there could be some kind of…" she waves her hands around, not finding the word.
Senna hums to that, taking another drink. "Not here, my lady," she murmurs. "You live in the Riverlands, and more's the pity. It's either Dorne or the wild north if you want to have your cake and eat it, too. Even the lands across the sea aren't much for lady fighters." Pushing back the hood of her cloak to let it fall back, she shakes out her hair. Should Rowenna be sober enough to notice, it isn't actually her usual cloak. "Does it matter, though? Or do you think it was all worth it?"
"Yes," says Rowenna, at length — half on a rueful laugh. "Yes. I do think it was all worth it. Even — even tonight. Tonight — stung. I thought — men are shits, you know? It's so funny, I used to think women were vicious cats, and I guess they are, but I thought men were — different. But they're just as…. bitchy." She rakes a hand back through her curls, breathing out. "But it's worth it. It is. Because… there are people, even if only a few, who call me Ser Lady. Lady Knight. Right here. In the Riverlands. And… girls will hear that, you know? They'll hear it. And maybe remember it. And the next time a girl shows up somewhere, all scrappy and ready to fight — she won't be the first. And it'll be better for her."
"Oh, women are vicious cats," Senna agrees easily enough. "But men are small-hearted pigs just as often. Comes from having the strength to do what they want." Another sip, and she corks the bottle before passing it back to the lady. "If you'll pardon me saying, though, my lady…If it's worth it, then you've got nothing to be drinking over. You did what you believe in. And you've gotten away with it," she laughs. "Impressively. A husband, still a member of your family, didn't get yourself raped or traded across the water as property. You're alive, you're married to the man you love, and no one's yet demanded you stop holding a sword, even if they won't give you the title of knight. I'd count my blessings, lady."
She smiles. "Hah," she murmurs. And nods. "You're very right," Rowenna says softly. "Very right indeed. All my ridiculous life I've been impossibly gods-blessed. And here I am with my teensy, tiny feelings hurt because a few — ignorant men treated me like a leper. Gods, Senna, you've sewn my guts back into my belly, and it hurt less." She chuckles. "Jarod and I are well-matched in so many ways. I hadn't realized how desperately I, too, want everyone's approval. And that's just not possible."
"Sewing guts back in is infinitely easier than dealing with broken hearts," Senna shakes her head. "There's no balm or cream for bruised feelings." She tilts her head slightly, considering the other woman for a long moment. "If it would help, I'd be glad to do a bit of sparring with you. If you're having trouble finding partners. I'm shite with a blade, but my father taught me a thing or two about hand to hand before he died."
Rowenna tilts her head, considering this. "If you'd like," she nods. "I'd welcome it. Jarod's a good partner, but — he can't always be at my beck and call. Little Hugh — well, I mean to try and teach him, not beat him into the ground. And even when I can goad a fellow or two from the militia into it, they're terrified to hit me."
"As they should be," Senna smirks slightly at the last. "I haven't practiced in ages," she admits. "Unlike you, I don't have a family to take me in should someone take offense to it, or a title to protect me if someone thinks it means I'm asking for something else. But if it eases you a bit, I wouldn't mind brushing up. Besides, you never know when it might come in handy."
"We won't let anything happen to you, Senna," says the Nayland lady. And she sounds very serious — if drunken. It sounds like a promise. "You've served my family well and you've saved my life more than once. You won't be turned out, and if you have to shank some piece of filth who thinks he can — well, I'll help you be rid of the body." She pauses, then asks, "You knew, didn't you?"
"What about you?" A smile flashes in the dark as Senna laughs. "My lady, there are some distinct differences between the insides of a man, and the insides of a woman. Yes, I knew. But you seemed to have things well in hand." She plucks up a few pieces of grass, rubbing them between her fingers. "Your family's taken good care of me, my lady. I have no doubts where I'd be if they hadn't taken me in after the Trident. The least I can do is keep your secrets."
Rowenna laughs, rubbing her hands over her face. "Ohhhhh… shit." She giggles. And giggles some more. "Well. Then. Thanks for being such a good sport about all the snogging."
Senna grins, reaching out to pat a hand at Rowenna's back. "Oh, no worries," she chuckles. "That was actually the seal on it. If you ever wonder, you don't kiss like a man, my lady. Good show, though." She shifts, drawing a knee up to her chest and glancing around the camp, idly keeping track of the comings and goings. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't let your family know I knew, though. It's always a fine line with keeping everyone's secrets."
Rowenna smiles, letting her shoulder brush Senna's. "Very least I can do," she agrees. "Did something happen to your cloak?" she asks, reaching over to touch the edge of the unfamiliar one Senna wears.
"Ah, not exactly," Senna answers, smile crooked. "I loaned it out." It's a rather nice cloak for her station, but there's nothing about it that screams who it belongs to. "I expect I'll have it back by the end of the tournament, though. Besides, sometimes it's better not to be known when you're moving through the camps."
"Ah," says Rowenna, accepting that easily enough. She's had a goodly portion of that bottle. She's quite pleasantly light-headed. "I'm glad my sister has you," she says.
"I'm glad to help your sister," Senna agrees easily, reaching over to tweak at one of Rowenna's curls. "Wouldn't mind helping you with that mess, either," she adds with a crooked smile. "It's going to be all seven hells to grow out, but we can make it go a little easier if you want."
Rowenna giggles at the tweaking of her curls. "I wouldn't mind the help. Gods know I'm hopeless with that kind of thing." She pushes the tumble out of her eyes. "I wonder how Jarod would feel about me growing it out. You know. Like a normal girl."
Senna arches a brow, then laughs. "My lady, I can't imagine he'd object to you having long hair. And if he does, I can show you a few tricks to help him get past that," she winks. "It seems to me that he knew who you were, and he married you anyhow. Married you and came to live with the family /his/ family's hated for years. If that didn't turn him away, I doubt growing out your hair will. He might even like it."
"Mm," says Rowenna, musing as she looks out at the darkness. She lifts a hand to her nape. "He likes my neck. I think he's always appareciated the short hair, for that reason." She glances at Senna, grinning. "Can you?" she asks, laughing. "Show me things?"
"Oh, any number of things," Senna assures with a knowing smile. "And if he likes your neck, he can still see it. There are plenty of ways to wear your hair to show off a nice neck." Straightening, she shakes out her own hair, then starts to twist it up. "Up is simple. But if you want to draw the eye to your neck, then you leave just a little down," she explains, pulling loose a lock in demonstration. "Add a dab of scent right at it, and he's trapped."
Rowenna watches, blinking slowly, and tries to do the same with her own hair. She doesn't have quite enough to manage it — and she's a bit fumble-fingered besides. She flinches, at one point, and laughs, grimacing. "I keep forgetting my ribs," she says, lowering her arms gingerly. A thought occurs to her, suddenly, her brain reeling around in pleasant inebriation, never on one thing for long. "Have you kissed many girls, to know what a girl kisses like? Or was it just — not manly? So it was girly by default?"
"I was wondering when you'd get to that," Senna laughs softly, looking away with a shrug of one shoulder. "Once or twice," she admits. "Mostly just to mess with a fellow a bit. For some reason, they tend to get all hot and bothered by the idea of two women. I imagine it's about getting more. Men are all about more. Anyhow. It is different."
Rowenna cants her head, all squinty and thinky. "Huh," she says. After pondering for a moment, she asks, "How can I tell if that's something Jarod would like? I mean, I think he's done it before. With whores, you know. But I never really asked if he fancied it overmuch or if it was just — you know — trying a bit of everything." She blinks. "Oh. Right. I could ask him." She smirks, tapping her temple with one finger. "I am dangerously smart, no?"
"Dangerously," Senna agrees. "I can't think of a lot of men I've seen say no to it, but I suspect as much as Jarod might like the idea, there'd have to be another girl he was sweet on. That's my gut feeling about it, though." She shifts once more, letting her hair down to sit cross-legged. "Somehow, Rowenna, you managed to find a sweet one. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer sometimes, but sweet."
"Between the two of us, we occasionally have half a clue," Rowenna says, grinning. "But yes, he is amazingly sweet. And amazingly amazing." She nods, wearing the stupidest of twitterpated grins. "I kinda like him." She wrinkles her nose a little, though, thoughts coming back around to, "Another girl he was sweet on?" She frowns, thinking this over, and then frowns all the darker. "I think I'd have to kill her."
"And now that we've thought that through, I think we can discount the idea of you and Jarod having a threesome," Senna declares cheerfully, leaning over to reclaim the bottle. She hasn't had enough to drink for this conversation, apparently. "They really do work best as paying arrangements. That way everyone leaves happy. When there are feelings involved, everyone leaves unhappy most of the time."
Rowenna laughs and laughs until she groans. "Oh, my fucking ribs," she whimper-snorts. "Hee. Fuck." She mops at her eyes. "You know… I'm not sure I've ever actually talked… girl talk with anyone. Ever. I mean, there are a few women in me life that I love dearly — my sister, my good sisters — but… Really. This sort of thing would make their heads explode."
Senna pulls the cork out of the bottle, taking another swallow as she watches Rowenna laugh. "That's right, easy on the ribs," she teases, smile crooked. "I don't want to have to fix them again." At the last, she lowers the bottle, cradling it in her lap. "I get the feeling most noblewomen don't /really/ do girl talk," she points out. "I wouldn't know for certain. My mother died when I was small. But from the way my father talked about her, I don't think it happens. Sometimes I think it's the real reason to keep maids and the like around. Otherwise you'd go getting into your own threesomes and there's be seven hells of a mess to clean up afterwards."
Grinning, Rowenna shakes her head. "Probably." She leans over and kisses Senna's cheek. "I'm glad we have you around."
Senna reaches over to tuck a curl behind Rowenna's ear at the kiss, fond. "I'm glad to be around, Rowenna," she replies softly. "Your family is never boring."
Rowenna lingers near a moment, eyes shutting pleasantly as Senna tucks back that curl. She blinks them open again. "I'm drunk," she murmurs.
"Very drunk," Senna agrees with a low laugh. "I'm confiscating this as a drunk tax. Do you need some help getting back to your tent?" she offers, holding out a hand.
Smirking, Rowenna takes the proffered hand. "I think that's the very least you're owed."
Senna smiles easily, standing and helping Rowenna back up. "All right then, m'lady," she says lightly, tucking the bottle under her arm. "To bed with you. I'll bring by my hangover cure in the morning."
Rowenna rests her head against Senna's shoulder, allowing herself to be steered to her tent. "Thank you, sweet Senna."