The innkeep-- who in a place this small doubles as the barman-- doesn't insist Eskel eat in his room so the witcher figures things aren't too dire even with how the peasants carried on, or the muttering he can hear here and there in the dining room. He chooses a place where he can sit with his back to the wall.
Dinner is a heavy mutton and mushroom soup made with dark ale, with a crusty oat bread to dip in it and an early tart cider to wash down the earthiness of it. Eskel eats with his customary enthusiasm and efficiency watching to see if she enjoys her meal or at least finds satisfaction in it. It might be the last really good meal they have for a while, especially since Eskel doubts anyone at home will feel especially charitable cooking for the extra mouth he's made by bringing a stranger home unannounced.
It's the kind of food she's grown unused to having — even so-called simple American food has become weirdly gourmet compared to what she was used to growing up, and this definitely doesn't remind her of any of the fusion places she's grown to love around her apartment — but it's hearty and warm, and she's hungry enough to tuck in eagerly when it's set in front of her.
Even dried rations and game is better than some of the MREs she's choked down in her life. She'll explain those to him another night, over a different dinner; right now, she's using the bread to sop up the last of her sauce and all but licking her fingers clean.
"Beer doesn't really do anything for me," she admits. She's happy to drink it for the taste, though, some little part of her brain reminding her of a half-remembered fact about the safety of medieval drinking water and the prevalence of beer as an alternative.
"Still tastes good." He says. "Even if it doesn't get you drunk. Not that I'm tryin' to get you drunk." He says, somewhat warily. "Just enjoy this brief civilization." He pushes his bowl aside and stretches.
She glances up at him, watching him silently for a moment before rolling her eyes and elbowing him in the side.
"Relax," she says, almost laughing. "I know you're not trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me. You're the one who stopped us in the middle of fucking because you realized we weren't fully in control of ourselves. You kept watch over me while I slept. I know I can trust you."
And if he ever does anything she doesn't like, she trusts herself enough to know she can at least give him one hell of a fight in return. She's not worried.
His rough face assumes a funny expression. He's glad to be trusted, because he knows he tries to be decent but it'd odd to hear someone say it out loud.
He waves for another beer, watching the room with those bright eyes of his. Demonstrating that he's bad at small-talk, lost in the observations trained into him both as a practicality of the job and a lifetime of violence.
Stephanie is just as happy to sit in silence and watch the room as Eskel is, though her observation has less to do with vigilance and more to do with curiosity. She's only ever seen places like this in movies or in television shows. The pubs and inns she's set foot in have all been bigger, brighter, cleaner than this, and it's fascinating.
Her fingers itch for a pencil and some paper, and she silently laments the fact that she has no way to capture this scene, so she makes do with simply committing it all to memory as best as she can. Maybe she can copy it down onto paper another time.
"S'alright," she protests, though she is a little bit bored, and part of her is wistfully thinking of that mattress that she's still fully intending on making Eskel sleep on. One night of sleep on a leather bedroll after multiple sleepless ones hasn't completely erased her sleep debt, and while she can function perfectly well right now, she'd love a nap.
Still, she stands, straightening her pretty embroidered blouse, and cracks her neck. "How long is the trek to get to...where we're going?"
"Almost a week." He says. "And rough going for the second half of it. Sorry." He says, tossing some coins on the table to settle the bill and retreating to the little room by the kitchen. He starts to unpack his bedroll, nudging what little other furniture the room possesses aside to make room.
"Ah." Well, she's not quite sure what she was expecting, but she's not entirely surprised. It's fine. She's hiked for long periods of time before, she'll manage alright. "And stop apologizing, god. It's not your fault."
Following him into the room, she quietly shuts the door behind them and latches it, then turns around to look at him.
"Nope." He says, stubborn as ever. "We've been over this, I'm taking the floor." As if to demonstrate his commitment, he stretches out on the bedroll, looking at her from an upside down perspective.
She takes a few steps closer, so she's standing at the head of his sleeping pad, and sets her hands on her hips as she looks down at him. Trying to hide the fact that she's amused — of course she'd find herself traveling with a man as stubborn as she is — she lets herself slip a little bit more into her Cap voice, a tone that expects obedience.
Fuck, he must have really overdone the Igni on that fire because it's very toasty in here all of a sudden. If he closes his eyes he can't take her in from this particularly imperious angle.
"We've been over this: you need the bed more than I do. I sleep like this all the time, it's fine. You enjoy having a bed while you still do. Cause it's a week of sleeping rough and then I don't know where I'm gonna put you when we get home."
She's not entirely sure, he could just be closing his eyes to make a stupid stubborn point, but she's going to take him doing that as a concession to her rightness.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," she demands quietly, not upset about it, hardly even teasing, just a gentle yet firm statement.
"We have been over this, and your reasons are bullshit. Get off the floor, and get on the bed." If he were Bucky, or hell, even Thor, she might kick at his shoulder with her socked feet. As it is, she takes half a step forward so she's looming over him even more, and waits for him to look at her. "I'm serious, Eskel."
"And you don't think I'm serious?" He says, sternly. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here and look out for you. You need the rest more than I do, I'm sure you're not caught up yet and you don't know what's ahead of you." He closes his eye again, stubborn as a mule.
"I don't need you to be a gentleman." It's partly endearing, this stubborn chivalry of his, but it's also just as much annoying. She's a soldier. She's been a soldier for longer than she's been anything else. Her body doesn't need coddling. She can sleep on the floor just fine. "You know what's preventing me from getting any rest? This conversation. Now. Move or you will be moved."
"Oh, you're gonna move me, huh?" He says, crossing his feet. It's not that he doubts her strength, she doesn't seem like the kind of person to oversell herself like that. But he is determined to get her to see dense and sleep in the bed.
And he's pretty sure it doesn't seem worth the trouble to try to move his enormous body.
She knows that tone all too well. It's one she heard all the time growing up, and even though she likes Eskel and knows that he doesn't mean anything by it, it also ignites that same coal of anger and need to prove herself in her chest that she's never been able to extinguish.
"Okay," she says, and steps over his body so she can stand at his side, his body between her and the bed. Dropping to her knees, she moves just that much faster than a normal person might, shoving one arm under his legs and the other under his shoulders, getting a grip on his shirt because he isn't being accommodating and shifting into her arms so she can cradle him comfortably.
With a low grunt and a quick yank, she hoists him up into her arms, using the momentum of her hauling his bulky frame off the floor to help send her rocking back up onto her heels. It's not exactly effortless, but she doesn't stagger and drop him either, and it's only a few small steps between where she's standing to the edge of the bed, where she can toss him onto the mattress to land with a satisfying whump.
"And stay there," she says, dusting off her hands.
He doesn't even have time to make an undignified noise of shock, but he does cuss with the breath the landing punches from his chest. He rolls over onto his side and stares at her. They'd talked about her strength previously but he hadn't quite envisioned being on the receiving end of it. Then he frowns at her, his eyes burning in the firelight.
"Bullshit." He laughs, rolling back onto the pillow for a moment.
"I could come over there and put you back over here. Just for the record." He declares, even if the temptation to just fall asleep right here and let her learn her lesson about choosing to sleep on the floor is almost appealing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Dinner is a heavy mutton and mushroom soup made with dark ale, with a crusty oat bread to dip in it and an early tart cider to wash down the earthiness of it. Eskel eats with his customary enthusiasm and efficiency watching to see if she enjoys her meal or at least finds satisfaction in it. It might be the last really good meal they have for a while, especially since Eskel doubts anyone at home will feel especially charitable cooking for the extra mouth he's made by bringing a stranger home unannounced.
no subject
no subject
"Eat up, cause it's gonna be dried rations and game for a while." He jokes. "And definitely avail yourself of the beer."
no subject
"Beer doesn't really do anything for me," she admits. She's happy to drink it for the taste, though, some little part of her brain reminding her of a half-remembered fact about the safety of medieval drinking water and the prevalence of beer as an alternative.
no subject
no subject
"Relax," she says, almost laughing. "I know you're not trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me. You're the one who stopped us in the middle of fucking because you realized we weren't fully in control of ourselves. You kept watch over me while I slept. I know I can trust you."
And if he ever does anything she doesn't like, she trusts herself enough to know she can at least give him one hell of a fight in return. She's not worried.
no subject
He waves for another beer, watching the room with those bright eyes of his. Demonstrating that he's bad at small-talk, lost in the observations trained into him both as a practicality of the job and a lifetime of violence.
no subject
Her fingers itch for a pencil and some paper, and she silently laments the fact that she has no way to capture this scene, so she makes do with simply committing it all to memory as best as she can. Maybe she can copy it down onto paper another time.
no subject
"Fuck, sorry, you must be bored half to death." He says. "Get lost in my own head sometimes. C'mon, let's go to bed."
no subject
Still, she stands, straightening her pretty embroidered blouse, and cracks her neck. "How long is the trek to get to...where we're going?"
no subject
no subject
Following him into the room, she quietly shuts the door behind them and latches it, then turns around to look at him.
"Eskel."
no subject
no subject
"Get on the bed," she says instead.
no subject
no subject
"Get up. And get on the bed."
no subject
"We've been over this: you need the bed more than I do. I sleep like this all the time, it's fine. You enjoy having a bed while you still do. Cause it's a week of sleeping rough and then I don't know where I'm gonna put you when we get home."
no subject
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," she demands quietly, not upset about it, hardly even teasing, just a gentle yet firm statement.
"We have been over this, and your reasons are bullshit. Get off the floor, and get on the bed." If he were Bucky, or hell, even Thor, she might kick at his shoulder with her socked feet. As it is, she takes half a step forward so she's looming over him even more, and waits for him to look at her. "I'm serious, Eskel."
no subject
"And you don't think I'm serious?" He says, sternly. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here and look out for you. You need the rest more than I do, I'm sure you're not caught up yet and you don't know what's ahead of you." He closes his eye again, stubborn as a mule.
no subject
no subject
And he's pretty sure it doesn't seem worth the trouble to try to move his enormous body.
no subject
"Okay," she says, and steps over his body so she can stand at his side, his body between her and the bed. Dropping to her knees, she moves just that much faster than a normal person might, shoving one arm under his legs and the other under his shoulders, getting a grip on his shirt because he isn't being accommodating and shifting into her arms so she can cradle him comfortably.
With a low grunt and a quick yank, she hoists him up into her arms, using the momentum of her hauling his bulky frame off the floor to help send her rocking back up onto her heels. It's not exactly effortless, but she doesn't stagger and drop him either, and it's only a few small steps between where she's standing to the edge of the bed, where she can toss him onto the mattress to land with a satisfying whump.
"And stay there," she says, dusting off her hands.
no subject
"So you insist, huh?"
no subject
"I just love your bedroll so much," she quips, dry. "I couldn't bear the thought of not sleeping on it again tonight."
Satisfied she's made her point, she steps back to sit cross-legged in the center of said bedroll and starts to finger-comb through her hair.
no subject
"I could come over there and put you back over here. Just for the record." He declares, even if the temptation to just fall asleep right here and let her learn her lesson about choosing to sleep on the floor is almost appealing.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)