March 20, 1329: Into the Woods

Into the Woods
Summary: Maeve and Termiane lake a reprieve from Laketown, and venture into the woods.
Date: 10 March 2010
Related: None.
Maeve Termiane 

Woods, Outskirts of Laketown
A wonderful old growth forest with lots of wilderness and dangerous terrain.
March 10, 1329

Into the woods, that is where Maeve has gone, dragging her willful Captain with her. He may not make the best hunting companion, but she has no preconceived notions that she will return to Laketown with any sort of game. With no war to fight and no new clients to appease, there is a lull throughout the Company which gives the Serjeant the freedom of returning to old, long ago habits. The forests here are old, trees tall and thickets dense. The archer has taken the high road through the growth — quite literally — walking with well placed steps along a nurse log covered in moss and clusters of tiny cedars. Her quiver is at her back, her bow slung across her shoulders.

Everyone things black is for stealth, but in the woods, it stands out rather sharply amongst the soft shades of brown and green — especially when it has silver threads shot through it. Of course, Termiane isn't exactly trying to stalk anything, except perhaps his fellow mercenary. Following the lower road, as it were, he moves alongside the nurse log to where it spans a depression, ducking underneath it and looking up at the huntress from beneath the brim of his hat. "Is the view up there as good as it is from down here?" An amused lilt dances through his musical voice, a smirk tugging up one corner of his scarred lips.

Maeve has carefully placed each foot along the log, careful of the slick moss and various fungus goo that gathers in crevasses of the rotting wood. She is even more considerate of her steps as the log becomes a green and brown bridge over the slight ravine. His musical words draw her gaze downward, eyes as rich as the world around them alighting on the shadowy upturn of his face. "I wouldn't know," she replies; her voice is warm, though more like wooden chimes compared to the delight of his. "All I see is a bobbling hat."

Termiane reaches up to touch that hat brim with his (relatively) unscarred right hand, "Well then a it's mighty fine view, since it's such a downright cunning hat." He comes out from under the nurse log, straightening to his strictly average height, "I, however, meant whether you could see something as mouth-watering. You know, like a deer or a grouse or something." Not that anything is likely to be around with the noise he's making even with his lilting voice pitched low. Of course, he isn't carrying a bow, crossbow, or anything else useful for hunting, just his paired gladii.

Maeve quirks a lopsided smile down at the Captain, and her shoulders roll beneath the straps of her quiver and well-maintained bowstring. Once she has crossed the petite ravine, she delicately steps off the log to land precisely on the debris of the forest floor. "All I've seen is an old, scarred buck… but I don't think his meat will be good for eating." She turns her back to him, though she cannot help but grin over her shoulder as she continues along the fern-covered path. "And since he's graceless tromping has scared off everything else, I imagine that I'll be returning empty handed."

"That's not what the pretty young does tell me." Termiane steps up and around a clutch of ferns, bending low to pluck a few leaves of mint and pop them into his mouth. Chewing lightly, he reaches up to adjust his hat atop his head, settling it down once more to the proper rakish angle. "And nothing says you can't get your hands on something tasty." Laughing off the teasing words, he steps around a tree and comes back onto the path behind the archer, "And were you expecting me to cook up whatever it was you shot, Maeve?"

"They are just sparing your feelings," Maeve quips back without missing a beat, though she does offer him a light smile. Then, her warm and rolling laugh breaks through the quiet of the woods. "Who is to say I have not already indulged?" Then the huntress rolls her shoulders a bit. "Perhaps… perhaps I would have allowed the cooks at the inn." She glances over her shoulder toward him once more, offering him the simplest of smiles before she turns her focus back on the path ahead of them. She is uncaring of the soft snap of the dried twigs beneath her bootheel.

Termiane shakes his head, a smirk sending ripples through the scar stretched across his cheek, "No, usually they're laying in a little puddle," that expressive voice lowers further, reaching a chord that puts just a little growl in it, "gasping for breath and letting their heartbeat slow down again." Strolling along down the path without a care, he adds, "And you've had my trail steaks. They're…" he pauses, tilts his head as if to consider, then finishes with, "Edible."

A shiver courses up her spine at his words, and there is a warm flare of a blush at the apples of her cheeks; her chin falls, casting her expression in soft shadow. There is a languishing pause before she offers a mild reply, "Yes, edible. Or at least something like—" And as she looks over her shoulder toward him as she steps over what appears to be a little mound of moss and peat; the ground immediately gives way to her, sucking her leg all the way past her knee, and she immediately unslings her bow. "Fuck!" She snaps as she flings a hand out toward the scarred mercenary as she tries to get her other leg under her weight.

Termiane offers up a little quirk of a smile at the blush and pause, laughing softly. And then she's getting attacked by the ground, and he half-steps forward, tossing out a hand to grasp hers. He gets his other hand around a branch, bracing the pair of them. There's a long moment's pause, as he waits to see if anything else is going to shift, "Wait… wait…" Once he's sure she's not going to fall further right away, he nods, "Right. How bad is it?" And even there in the midst of the serious situation, he has to quirk a half-smile and add, "Am I going to have to carry you back to Laketown, Serjeant?"

Her calloused hand encloses around his own, and her other hand buries itself into the moss of what she only hopes is solid ground beside her. She lifts her gaze toward him, offering a slight smirk that is only slightly pained. "I'm waiting," she says patiently before he is confident she will not continue toward the Chasm itself. "It's fine," she initially assumes, giving her leg a slight tug as if to see just how desperately the earth wants to cling to her. Then she offers him a slight glare at his question. "Don't even think about it." Then she shakes her head a bit. "Now… are you actually going to help me out of here?"

Termiane shrugs slightly, "Now why wouldn't I think about it?" That's enough teasing for him, and he braces one foot, then hauls back, "Isn't every man supposed to think about carrying a beautiful woman over his shoulder?" Nothing like a little more teasing to take her mind off whatever pain might accompany being hauled out of a sinkhole — and whatever might accompany a branch breaking and sending him falling down toward her.

Maeve grunts, biting back the slight pain that courses up her leg and hip as he starts to haul her out of the sinkhole. Though she manages to get her foot out of the hole, she doesn't even get to her feet before she is being sent down into the moss once more. "Termi—!" She thunks her head against a bit of wood, and she grunts. Another jolt of pain comes up her leg as she is suddenly enduring the weight of the mercenary captain.

Termiane jolts off Maeve, rolling aside so that he doesn't land fully atop her. After all, that leads to great tension, but it also leads to pain and suffering. Instead, his shoulder drives into a branch at the bottom of the sinkhole, "Shit!" The bruising jolt even knocks the hat off his head, which is a crime against humanity. "Hrm. Yeah. Not so comfortable down here, is it? Cozy, but not comfortable at all."

Maeve groans her initial response, reaching up to touch at the back of her head. "By the Other," she grunts as she glances over toward her fellow companyman. "This is the last time I take you with me anywhere. You are distracting." Though there is a touch of complaint there, she does manage to be half-amused. She starts to sit up, rubbing at the top of her hip as she does. She glances up through the gaping hole above them.

Termiane remains down on his back, crossing his legs at the ankles and tucking his hands behind his head, although with a good solid wince as he moves his right shoulder. "Of course I'm distracting. It's a specialty of mine." Shifting a bit off the bruise the pommel of one of his swords left in his side, he inquires, "So, have you figured out if you're too badly hurt to get my hat so we can get out of here?"

Maeve casts him a formidable glare before she reaches beyond him for his hat. "Your hat," she says as she thrusts it onto his head, neverminding the angle. Then she starts to precariously pull herself to her feet, using his shoulder as a way to brace herself as she tests the weight on her aching hip. When she seems satisfied with it, she glances down toward the Captain with a bit of a quirked smile. "Now, would you like me to carry you back to Laketown?"

Termiane quirks his grin as she reaches past him, jagging his eyebrows upwards. "My pleasure." He winces as she leans on his shoulder, finally getting his hands from behind his head and reaching up to straighten his hat — or rather, to make it appropriately crooked. "Would you? You always find the most enchanting locales, but I think I'm in the mood for a warm fire, a pint, and a smiling lass." Hauling himself to his feet, he kicks at the side of the sinkhole to find a brace for his foot, then pulls himself up and out before offering a hand down, this time from the more steady base of kneeling at the edge of the drop-off.

Maeve grasps firmly at his hand, and with his help, she heaves herself out of the sinkhole. It takes her a few moments to fully stand on her own two feet, and in the process she swoops down to pick up her fallen bow. "As you say, Captain," she says in a dutiful tone despite the warmth that dances in those dark eyes. The Serjeant hobbles forward a few steps before she manages to gain a more confident gait. She takes a moment to right her own internal compass before she glances over her shoulder to him and then gestures her chin in the direction whence they came.

Termiane straightens up to give her a hand up out of the depression, then rises up to his feet, rolling his shoulders and twisting at the waist to see just what's bruised and what's pulled. "Normally, if a man and a woman went out into the woods and came back all grass-stained, having trouble walking, and tumble-haired…" there's a pause, and then he gestures up to his own short crop, "Well, one of us, at least… people would assume that something immoral had happened." He lets her figure out the way back, then follows after without complaint, "Thankfully, since you're not glowing and singing my praises, your virtue is safe."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License