Something With Innuendo

Title: Something With Innuendo
Time Period: June 26, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: In the wee small hours of the morning, while the whole wide world is fast asleep… Jorn doesn't let Luna.

For Jorn, time has been passing excruciatingly slowly. He can't imagine what it must feel like for the others. Hossfeld's reeturn to the hold, where the party rests, does not happen until Jorn has made his way through the ship to where Luna is being kept. A joint effort, in watchfulness. The German is gone to rest himself, which leaves Jorn stiffly closing the door behind him as he enters. The air outside is much more for his lungs than the air down here, but he wants to both do his job and his personal duty without fail. Which means taking care of her in the meantime. He can't help but feel some responsibility for it.

"God kveld, liten manen." Jorn's voice is soft, though present enough to catch her attention should it be elsewhere.

She's still awake and seemingly glad for more company. Luna's eyes are slow to rise and meet Jorn's but her lips are turned up at one corner and the fingers on her good hand stretched out. "Eduard held my hand after they took my coin," she says, expecting Jorn to automatically pick up where their companion left off. "He played his little mouth harp as well, you don't have one, do you?" She hopes not and in that hope, her gaze draws around the norseman's form looking for where he might hide one.

Nearby, a lipped tray carries a metal cup and a pitcher of water. Scraps of food are left over from what can be presumed as a small meal for the woman in the bed. One bite taken out of everything and then left for either the ship's rats or the birds.

Pulling the chair up to sit down beside where she rests, Jorn is momentarily faced with an outstretched hand and Luna's question. Hossfeld seems to have set a babysitting precedent. Knitting his brows and putting on his usual stoic mouth, Jorn takes her smaller hand in both of his, lowering them to rest there.

"Took your coin?" He questions, just above a murmur. Blue eyes find the tray, examining the remnants of what could have been a decent meal for her. He is not surprised that she has little appetite. "I do not have a mouth harp. Just my mouth." Which he draws just that much flatter across his jaw, a sharp line. Everything else seems worn around the edges- his beard getting a bit long, his eyes strained.

"Aye, the coin that Duncan gave me when he started visiting me. They came in, speaking French with Eduard, I couldn't understand most of it." The few words she did glean are common and wouldn't make much sense when strung together: mister, the, is, a, her, him… "What they did say in English, they were talking about something that can't be undone if I die."

Luna stills for a time, closing her eyelids and taking slow, shallow, breaths. Within a few of them she takes a short gasp in and opens her eyes wide with fright. "I'll get my coin back if I live, she said. Will you tell me if we're close? We should be there by tomorrow, aye? I'll be back in Dornie."

"We are making good time." Jorn feels that this is the most he can say, in good faith. He worries, suddenly, about what these people were discussing with Luna, with her in such a state. Taking advantage of women is one of his sore spots, in a manner of speaking.

"I will have to ask Eduard about what he knows, later on. How are you feeling? I see that you've eaten a few bites, there…" The large man takes one of his hands back, leaving hers overtop the one that remains. "We will do our best to make you look decent, I think, when we pull into port." He gives her a smile, then, somewhere between reassurance and a tease. She looks terrible, though only compared to her usual state.

Her vision drifts to the food on the tray and she rolls her eyes. "It wasn't very good, nor was it very hot. Dried things, I'm tired of dried things. I want a biscuit fresh from ma's oven, nothing less." Apparently Luna's on some sort of hunger strike until she gets what she wants. Those with experience in matters regarding her know that it's a wasted effort trying to convince her rather than just trick her. Which might be how Hossfeld got her to eat as much as she did.

"I'm tired, Jorn, will you sing me to sleep and make certain I wake? I just need a few minutes to collect myself." She can't lift her injured arm, so the hand he's holding slips away to run through her tangled locks. Suddenly, she's self conscious about her appearance. "Don't let Duncan see me like this, promise me?"

"That's a bad idea. You will need your energy." He says, on matters of food. But from various events and such and such, Luna knows that Jorn is not picky. At all. He'd eat his hand on a feast day if someone distracted him for too long.

"I am not supposed to let you sleep." Jorn sounds regretful, and his expression is sheepish. Which likely means he wishes he could let her rest properly. His eyebrows lift high, and the corners of his mouth pull into a smirk. "When we get home, perhaps I will sing you to sleep then. You still look lovely. But if that is what you want." Somehow, the northman doubts that Duncan will care too much about how she looks, when he hears what she has gone through.

"I don't want Duncan to love me less for the beastly way that I look. I'm being considerate, aren't I?" Luna's always been a little on the wayward side of consideration. She wouldn't like it if Duncan saw her looking like the dead, therefore Duncan wouldn't want to see her either.

Slipping her hand back into Jorn's large palm, she curls her fingers slightly around its edge and rests there. If she can't sleep, at least her hand will be able to. "Tell me things that I don't already know. Do you have anything more palatable than dried fish?"

"Not unless I manage to materialize a fishing rod." Sorry about that. "They seem to have stocked themselves purely for a longer trip. Dried food, barrels, jars, cans. Non-perishables. If they have food to make on board, I have not seen it. Gods only know what they're keeping in the back. All locked up and under guard." Jorn has to tell someone about it, even if in passing. They're going to Dornie with apparently precious cargo- that is all he knows. His fingers curl enough to grasp her hand, before he lets it go.

"While you don't have your coin…" Jorn moves his cloak from one shoulder, and if he didn't say anything beforehand, his unbelting of the shoulder of his armor would be quite odd. He undoes the buckles there, drawing back the chest. Of the bundle of amulets hanging from his neck, flat under the surface of his layers, he pulls one leather cord up over his head, keeping the object in his fist while he buckles things back together. It doesn't take him long. Second nature.

"You can hold onto this." Jorn takes her hand and puts it into her palm. The metal is still warm from his chest; the flat iron is in the shape of a sledgehammer, to her eye, etched with a simple knotwork and a central shape that looks rather like a butterfly- or, at least, two triangles, tips met.

Such a tidbit of news is what Luna latches onto. Turning the medallion over in her palm, she examines it briefly before her eyelashes flare up and she stares wide eyed at Jorn. "What do you think the precious cargo is? A treasure more valuable than the ones we managed to scavenge from the city?" In her mind, the wagonload of riches will catapult all of them to a higher wealth than anyone in Dornie could ever dream.

"I wonder if it's a room filled with gold, or perhaps a royal come to claim Dornie into their kingdom. Oh I hope not, I'd wish for Duncan to be a king, if he was then perhaps someday I'd be a queen." She lifts her chin as high as she can without stretching her neck to make the wounds seep further. As much blood as she's gained back through the sparse amount she's eating, she can't afford to lose it all just yet.

The strange thing is, the pendant stays warm, even exposed to the cool, damp air. Perhaps a trick of some sense, perhaps not.

"I couldn't tell you. It could be anything. If it is a royal, though, I think I may prefer crashing the ship." Jorn is serious when he says this, to boot. "It could be for trade, or maybe they wish to simply impress with something." Despite his reserve, however, he gives a little snort of a laugh when she mentions her wishing Duncan to be a king. He wipes the amusement away promptly, the spark in his blue eyes the only thing betraying it.

"You seem more a lady than a queen. Queens have terrible rules to follow. Ladies, less so. True, the dresses are prettier…"

"If I were a queen, I could make my own rules," Luna interjects in seriousness. "If I were a queen then I could have as many castles as I wish and I could run through the whole of them." She looks down at her wounded arm and presses her lips together, her eyebrows drawing downward in displeasure. "I would sack the ruins and slay the monsters that prey there. I'd be strong."

Not weak, like she is now. And always has been.

"What would you do if you were a king? Have you ever wanted to conquer the whole of the world or even a kingdom?"

"You would adore the castles in Europe. There are a great many of them." He's- ah- been to a few. Jorn shifts in his chair and offers his palm to her again, if she wants it back. "I have. I could have tried, years ago. I may have had some success in the endeavor. A bear-king." The smile he makes is for himself, but it shows his past for what it was.

"What would I do? Well, I would help my people become great. Not just in defense, but I know I would have been a spiritual king, if not a kinder one."

The piece of iron is transfered to Luna's lame hand and her icy fingers connect with Jorn's palm again. His answer is mulled over with as much concentration as she's able to muster, it's not much. Her mind drifts and the blank stare she gives the door is coupled with the droop of her eyelids. "I would have all of those castles," she murmurs, eyes closing finally. A long breath is taken in and let out in a heavy sigh but afterward two slits appear and the partial moons of her irises.

"I would have all the castles and I would fill them with servants to do whatever I wish." Her lips, dry, curve into a wistful smile as she creates a little world of her own to retreat into. "All of my dearest friends could live in them with me. You'd come, and Eduard of course. My ma and da, they could live in one as well. I could fill all of the castles with new friends."

Jorn leans forward when she lids her eyes to slits, suspicion overriding his sense of stillness. It would be his luck that she fall asleep on his watch.

"I have seen castles on the tops of mountains, and castles deep in valleys of pines that were elder in the Before. I could see you in some of them. The ones with tall spires, banners hanging from windows, a sturdy wall and a village." Jorn does his level best to drum up something for her to imagine, to keep her mind occupied. "Everyone dressed in fine things, ladies in silks colored like the auroras."

"I would move everyone I like from Dornie to my village… or it might be easier to move my castle there, though not as exotic." Luna's always been fascinated with things from other places rather than what's at home. Her eyes open a little wider though the exhaustion just seems that much more. The trouble with trying to stay alive, when you really need to do it, it's tiring work. If she could ask one more time, he might be convinced. Maybe.

The blonde doesn't give it a half moment of consideration before her lips part. As sweetly as she can manage, while giving the hand she holds a light squeeze for measure, she does. "Do you think you could tell me more about the castles? I could drift off, just for a moment, and the circles under my eyes would be so much less when we reach Dornie."

No such luck. He's denied men more important things. And Cordelia. Jorn is used to the saccharine nature of girls that want something they can't have. The times he folds are when it literally won't hurt them, or if he gets the signal to go on. Luna doesn't have a father here, and he was told to keep her awake.

"No." Jorn frowns at her. "I can tell you about the castles, but I was told to keep you awake. Is there not something more likely to keep your interest?" In comparison to putting her to sleep.

Castles won't hold her interest for long, not unless there's a story of scandal linked to one. Luna's lips turn downward into a slight pout and she lets loose a huff that might have been meant as a whimper. She stares at Jorn with her saddest watery kitten expression for a while before lifting her good shoulder in a shrug.

"You could gossip with me? Tell me about all of the men and women in the militia?" She glances at the door and then back at him before raising her eyebrows. "Or you could tell me some juicy tidbits that I might not know? I'm dying, you could tell me a secret and I could literally take it to my grave."

Jorn follows her look to the door, half expecting Hossfeld to be over his shoulder, for some reason. Possibly too much time with him. The northman lets out a small grunt as he looks back to Luna. Juicy… tidbits? She makes it sound like food. In a manner of speaking it could be- for her type, at least.

"I've heard stories about your 'taking things to the grave'." Jorn refrains from rolling his eyes, although his incredulous look remains. "What is there to know about militamen? They fight, they kill, they fuck. Most of them. Then you've got men like Eduard and myself, the ones that like to stay- ah- mysterious."

"Aye, you likely have but I wasn't actually dying then, was I?" Luna's challenge is weak, only because the woman herself is. "I've heard the talk, they're calling me a corpse already. Even if it was in French, there's not much a word like cadavre could be, is there?"

His description of militia men earns a wrinkle of the nose and a curve downward of her mouth. "That's not at all what I was wanting. If you're going to tell the juicy things, at least make it good. Tell me, Jorn, have you ever fancied a woman before?"

Something else for Jorn to inquire about. Or at least keep an ear open for. He chuckles at her dislike of his initial description, the noise petering out when her prodding gets personal. He coughs, and glances at the floor, free hand drawing down over his chin.

"Well, sure I have. Everyone fancies someone, at one point or another." Diplomacy is trickier than it seems with such a question, and Jorn makes a valiant effort. "I cannot say the same for any of them over the years. When I was younger, I was never confident enough with them to ask. After this job came around, it always seemed just that much harder. Dornie's a small sea of fish."

This seems to capture her interest a little more than talk of castles. Luna's eyes light up more than when Jorn initially entered the room and she turns her head enough to give him the full of her attention. "Really! A woman in Dornie?" Her voice, even a little rough, squeaks with excitement at the prospect of being let in on the secret. "And I don't understand why any woman wouldn't feel the same way. I find you quite gallant now that I've gotten past the seal eating business. And you're not unpleasant to look at, I've had worse try to climb between my sheets."

She stops and lets out a small laugh.

It stops after a few titters, the pain washing over her features. "Honestly, I have. Not that I've let them in, I've always had standards, you know."

Jorn tries not to laugh when she compliments him, and that free hand goes back to fussing with his jaw, cheekbones warming.

"I've heard about your standards, yes." Which might tell her one other reason that he never tried, early on in her employment. "If one finds out about my feelings, it is only a matter of time before the rest do." He makes a couple of relevant hand gestures to make himself clear, Hand marking one point, and then waving an arc for the rest.

"And then they all remember that I am, in fact, a bachelor that has a steady job with a rich family." Male problems, right?

"Nothing wrong with a woman finding out about a catch. If everyone kept everything a secret, marriage would be as extinct as that city we just came from." Luna looks down at their hands, swallowing down some sort of disappointment. "I wanted to find love, get married, have a family. I should count myself lucky enough to die with the first, aye?" Despite the struggle to stay alive, she seems resigned to the worse fate.

"If I die will you make me a promise, Jorn? Don't go the way I do, the next time you fall in love with a woman, you tell her. Don't die without saying nothing, if I'm to regret anything, it'll be that."

"You're not dead yet, Luna." Jorn is more than happy to remind her, in plain, honest words. "But I'll remember what you've said, regardless." So perhaps, even if she does not die. He clears his throat. "So, yes, I promise. The next time there is someone, I will tell them. After fighting myself, of course." A small smile registers on his expression, fleeting again.

"We've gotten- all droll again, you know."

"We're the exact opposite of droll, you know," she mimics those last two words, even using his accent. Luna's eyes close again, opening a little too slowly to be just a blink. She's cheating. A few of these pass by, almost as if she's testing him before she lets her last blink go on.

Even the grip on his hand relaxes a little.

He's watching her like a hawk, and she can see it through slitted eyes. Her eyes close, and but a moment later, Jorn reaches over and pinches her in the thigh.


Tears are too quick to spring from Luna's eyes as she wakes. Frustrated and angry, she lashes out at Jorn in a weak hiss rather than a scream of fury. "You have to let me rest, you can't keep me awake. I'll go mad." Her voice quivers on the word but it's quite close to what could be the truth. "I've been awake for days, Jorn, days. No one is letting me drift for even five minutes. It's inhuman. It's beastly.


"I would rather have you angry and mad, than a corpse." Jorn almost growls this, but it passes soon enough, and levels out. "You could fall asleep and never wake up, a coma. Your brain would just give up the work on the rest. Or you would die. Next someone comes to check on you I will ask again if I may let you rest, but until that time you need to stay awake. I've seen men in your shoes."

"This is not new to me. Just know that once you are home, you may rest as long and as deeply as you want."

"My brain could give in to the strain of being kept from a good rest and I could go completely insane. You're quite lucky I'm so close to death because if I weren't and this treatment were suffered, I'd be murderous by the end of the trip." Luna's tears glitter at the bottoms of her lashes and she rubs her cheek on her shoulder, unwilling to give up Jorn's hand to mop up her face. "If you're going to keep me awake all night, you'd best start thinking of the most scandalous stories to tell me. Truth or not, I'll be quicker to die from boredom if you're not loose with the gossip."

Torturing him isn't something she's as concerned with as the torture she's enduring by being forced awake.

"You can be as mean to me as you like when we get back. To a degree. I'll let you know where the limit is." Jorn has a guess that this might help him in the future. He seems repetant about making her tear up, though, and he purses his mouth for a few long moments.

"Loose with the gossip? Mmm." He considers his options quickly. "Scandalous like lovers, or scandalous like unexpected?" It seems he will entertain her. If that is what it takes. Even if he does have to make something up, in the end.

"We've a long ways to travel, Jorn Wartooth," Luna replies rather sullenly, finally pulling free her good hand to rub away the moisture from her face. Even with the tears gone, the dewey perspiration seems to come back near instantly, giving a sheen to her greying skin. "Both will likely be needed. We can start with the lovers, for they are much more interesting and then work to the unexpected."

Her hand slips to his palm again and she quiets, waiting for him to take up the reigns of storytelling, whether it be truth or falsehood, it's likely she doesn't care.

"Scandalous gossip like lovers, then." He was hoping that she'd pick the other one to save time- but it sadly occurs to him now, that this is Luna. "Which seems such a better topic for you, I'd think. I've heard that Darren Boyle likes to be tied up- which is not especially burning, save for that he lets the women up behind him."

The conversation gives Jorn a ruddy look as if he's been drinking- but honestly he will get over the shyness if Luna starts chipping in. He can't do this himself. "Though if you meant mine, well, I'm not sure I'm the type to kiss and tell."

"Everybody knows that, he's visited the Dove a time or two and not all the women there are as close lipped as I am when it comes to lovers." Really, that has to be a joke, because Luna has always let the canaries sing when it comes to the men who visit her room. "If you're going to entertain me, it would be best if the news wasn't old. Tell me something unexpected then, something scandalous and unexpected."

She lets him falter in thought for a few minutes before offering a bone, so to speak. "Anything interesting happening with the Rosses? I always feel so sorry for Cordelia, you know, it can't be easy."

He was also hoping he would avoid talking smack about the family he works for. Jorn presses his mouth into a firm line again. Starting to dislike.

"Why do you feel sorry for her?" What does she mean? Jorn has an educated guess, but there is the other, third hope, that Luna doesn't make it.

"Well her ma's so ambitious, you know, and it seems to me that Cordelia doesn't quite have the drive to do what's expected. Rather, she's more like her gran is and would do better to take after her footsteps." Surprisingly, it's not gossip about the strange relationship between the girl's parents. It's possible that over the years, Luna has beaten that horse to death.

Her eyes drift toward the door again, muffled sounds from the other side of it rise and die off as whoever is out there passes without regard to the occupants inside the magazine. "I'd like to be home, I wouldn't mind it one bit if Cordelia Ross was here with me now. I would be that much closer to health."

Jorn just about has a brick- as he fully expected it to be about the beaten horse that is Edgar and Goneril. One less horse that he has to cough and turn beet red over, for numerous reasons. He sighs openly, unware he was actually holding his breath. He makes it obvious that he was fearing something else.

"Yes, she is much like her paternal grandmother. And yes, you would be. She may be a Ross, but I think she would not mind her own name. Cordelia is all of them, but none of them." Jorn speaks fondly of her, smile creased and brow the same in the center, furrowed above his nose.

"I'm no good at this gossip thing. If you like, I can still tell you a story- you may not want to fall asleep, if you like it. It is one that was told to me when I was a boy, about Cordelia's age. A fairytale- about the White Bear King…"