Teagan was not in the best of moods. Not only had she not managed to sneak away to get datura from her supplier, the kitchen had been even worse than usual. First, May had spilled the soup--all of it. She'd burned her arm rather badly, so now she was in the infirmary, but frankly Teagan had little sympathy for the twit. It was her staunch opinion that you shouldn't pick up something too heavy for you, in every sense of the word. F'rinstance: she didn't try to fight anyone she couldn't take on. Carrying a huge knife helped to even the odds.

That in mind, she gave the bandaged Geoff a jaunty wave. He glared, but she knew: she wasn't worth the trouble of trying to get at again.

When she turned away, the forced smile fell off her face and her shoulders slumped. All the damn tables were full. So many bloody recruits! She hefted her wooden trencher and set off determinedly for the least full, then slid into a seat across from the boy who'd saved Elsie--Tom. He annoyed her to no end, and he was so fluttery and chipper she wouldn't be surprised if he were a sodomite.

"Hullo." Her tone dared him to respond. She plunked her plate down onto the table. "Still s'bloody cheerful after all the knockin' about they been giving you, then?"

Thomas was trying to enjoy his meal, and had almost succeeded when he looked up and saw his sharp-tongued rescuee heading toward him. He stifled a groan and greeted her with his usual bright smile. This woman was in a shell, and it would be wonderful if he could pull her out of it-but he wished she would sit beside him, so he wouldn't have to conciously avoid looking down her blouse for the entire meal. The recruits were going to tease him about taking a whore, and the dishonor of it made him shudder. Well, come what may, he would do his best.

Predictably, her first words to him were gloomy, and he lifted an eyebrow. Tom then went very calmly back to his food. "Hello. I don't see why I shouldn't be so chipper-after all, you're not being 'knocked about.' If I am and ought to be gloomy, then you're not and ought to be a little ray of sunshine. Since you refuse I'm happy to do it for you.

He chewed a moment, then swallowed, then looked thoughtful. "....Hm. I don't think this meat is real."

"Insult me, sure. But insult my cooking? Never! And if it ain't real, then what do you think it may be?" Teagan demanded, picking up a piece of what was, in fact, roast mutton and taking a go at chewing it. "It's a little tough, but then, we did get it off some of the failed recruits--now didn't we."

Her spirits were actually lifting somewhat, and she swallowed the mutton with a great show of glee. "I hear the barbarians do it, you know. Eat their enemies. Gives them strength." Or maybe the man who sold her her weed had been pulling her leg. It wouldn't surprise her. "Food for thought, 'specially when I hear the good old Lieutenant got holed up in some mountain in winter during the last war and had to survive off his comrades--if you see what I mean." She took another bite, then decided she sort of pitied this boy.

He really was a boy--not a man, not yet, and that made her feel marginally more comfortable around him than she did around most males. Even if he was looking down her dress. "Don't worry--it's mutton."

Thomas was not smiling. If the situation were any different he would be the first to call it a good joke, but as she went on and on about the barbarians eating their enemies he shuddered and shoved his plate away. The young soldier was pallid and actually a rather sickly shade of grey, and he gave Teagan a haunted look before he buried his face in his arms and strove to control his breathing. In for the count of three, out for the count of three. In, and out, and in....

Botheration! It wasn't working. In all honesty he hadn't expected it too; what were a few breathing excercises when there was sudden reason to believe that your little sister had been eaten? "...Do they eat them alive?"

His voice was muffled, and silently he prayed for that not to be so. Being desecrated once you were dead was plenty bad, but if not then there was hope that the death sentence had been swift and relatively painless. "Please be honest with me, this is not a good time for you to joke."

The worst time possible, as a matter of fact.

"Oh--Tom, come on, you can't be that--"

Teagan didn't usually like touching people, but he looked so touchingly young. And so upset. Really, not just about his stomach being queasy. It looked as though something were really wrong.

"I was joking," she said hastily. "They don't really eat people--they're actually quite--" She couldn't really continue without giving away the fact that she had a little more contact with the Zerui than most people would condone. Hell--admitting it would get her head chopped off quicker than she'd kill a chicken. "I mean, what's wrong?" Tentatively, she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "It's just that, the way you reacted--ain't just a weak stomach--is it?"

The last thing he had expected was for Teagan to put her hand on his arm and actually sound worried about him, but on the other hand he imagined that his current appearence could alarm the most hardened of soldiers. He swallowed and nodded once, barely. Yes, something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Thomas forced himself to lift his head and look up at her. It was nice for her to worry. Really, very surprising, but to hear her say that the barbarians didn't really eat people made him so happy he wouldn't have shied from kissing her. The lad wet his lips and spoke hoarsely. "...No, it's not a weak stomach."

The chatter from the hall around him was a roar in his ears, and he glanced around to be certain that no one was listening. Not that he thought it was shameful, but what happened was certainly very private and who knew that someone here wouldn't use it for their own cruel reasons. Or worse, pity. The last thing he needed was pity from these boys. For some reason he didn't mind it so much from Teagan-although that was probably because he wasn't sure she let herself feel pity. At any rate, he'd given her a scare, and she deserved to know some background to make up for it. Hopefully that would prevent another, similar event in the future. "My sister was taken by a barbarian warrior; months ago now. I don't know what happened to her. And everything I imagine is somehow worse than the one before it. I just don't know." His arms tightened on each other, and he shivered once again.

"Oh," Teagan said quietly. Under her hand, she could feel his muscles quivering, as though he were a nervous horse, and pulled back hastily. It was that she didn't like about people--the little unexpected movements. What were you supposed to think? And what could you say, anyway, to something like that? She found herself getting angry that he thought it was her problem. How was she to know teasing him wouldn've done this? She couldn't've.

Oh, well. She did know a few things from her trafficking with the Zerui, and one was about concubines. The man who talked to her, an emaciated outcast and grubby to boot, had once offered to 'take' her. Then she'd kicked him square in the crotch after he'd explained what he meant.

"She's... she's probably married to one of 'em," was what she ended up saying. Trying to find a tactful way to put it, she went on. "I hear tell, and this is true, that they like to pick 'em from amongst strangers. But they don't kill, don't ya know, if you ever been hearing stories from the first Wars--they never kill women." She looked away. It was hard to sound compassionate; mostly, she came of matter-of-fact, even glib, at the most inappropriate times. But really--what did you say? Teagan couldn't sincerely make believe she cared all that much, or even if she did, what the Hell was there to do about it anyway.

"Oh." Thomas was quiet too, not really knowing what to say to this. He realized, of course, that he had put the cook into an awkward position. And he'd figured that his little sister had been raped; it was almost uniquely a women's curse-although one surely deserved by few and certainly not by Renna. Renna, who had been sixteen before she fully understood the way it worked. She'd just never been interested. Lost in her weaving and in her family; content to stay where she was and be safe. Safe. How horrible it must have been for her. The soldier's hands tightened on his cup as Teagan pulled away, and he noticed that he was still shaking. His knuckles were white on the mug, and he turned his head to the side. It wouldn't do any good to wonder how Renna had handled things. All he could do for her was pray that an angel might give her comfort, and that he could work miracles for her sake in her absence. "...I guess that's good."

Well, it beat being eaten. Tom lifted his head and gazed at the woman in front of him, his face apologetic as he tried to regain some measure of composure. "Look, Mistress Caradoc...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you. I didn't mean to tell anyone. And I didn't mean to scare you with my reaction to your joke. If things were different I would have found it funny; cross my heart. I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything. I'm sure your mutton is delicious."

And he picked it up and took a bite.

"Better be," Teagan said grumpily. "That I spiced m'self." But she couldn't muster up her usual vim and vinegar, and only sat rather silently, poking at her food. "I'm sorry--about your sister," she said at last. "I hain't got any brother or sisters as I know of, but if my friend Ciarda got into any trouble I was always there right quick. It isn't nice to see people suffer and you can't help 'em. But you'll do it."

She looked up at him with some degree, at last, of real respect. She respected people--male or female--only very grudgingly. But Tom, though he'd seemed false in his earlier cheer, had earned it from her.

Always grudgingly. Of course.

"I saw how you fought the other day--with that other recruit. You've got the fighting spark. I see it in some of the officers, when I watch trainin.' I--take this however you like, but I'm sure you could kill a man without blinking, if it come to it."

"Hmmm." Thomas tilted his head to the side as he thought, trying to figure out how he felt about Teagan's...Insult? Compliment? He wasn't sure. The boy scratched his head. "Thanks for your condolences. I hope I don't become the sort to delight in killing, but I tell you I don't mind being able to do it if I have to. Battle is madness. It's kill or be killed, and you know-"

He took another bite of mutton. "I guess its a good thing to know how to do, or at the least a useful thing. That raid awhile back, most of the other lads were wetting themselves and I was looking the Warlord in the eyes." That came out wrong. He hadn't been trying to brag. "I dunno. I don't think I could kill anyone without blinking, but the Baskar.....well." He shrugged. "They don't have a problem coming in and stealing my innocent little sister, I don't have a problem killing them in battle, that's all. Fair's fair."

Mochrie forced a smile at her."But thanks again. And thanks for the dinner. It's good." It was also distracting, which was something he really needed. Awkwardly he tried to change the subject. "So, your friend Ciarda-is she here?"

Teagan laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, she'll be here, but for now I think she's with another garrison. She's a whore. And a good one, and a good woman. It isn't my choice of profession, nor one I could ever do, but I love her dearly, so--" She shrugged. "I'm sure she'll be here soon, and you can, er, meet her."

Teagan looked down, stabbing at the last scraps of meat on her plate with her knife, and then sopped up what remained of her gravy with a hunk of bread. Then she set it down, and leaned her elbows on the table with a sigh.

For some indefinable reason, she felt rather grumpy. First she'd put her foot in her mouth, reminding him of his sister. And now she felt bad for saying such frankly disgusting things. Eating people? What was wrong with her? Why would she bring that up? The simple answer--that she was uncomfortable around a man who was frankly so attractive--didn't seem to be the right one. After all, Teagan hardly cared about that.

"I don't think the Baskar are all bad," she said with some caution. "Certainly the ones as did that to your sister. But--I mean--" She shrugged. "If they're after us we'd best be after them, and that's the truth."

"Maybe they're not all bad. I imagine women and children aren't; they tend to be decent anyhow." He chose to ignore her comments about her whore friend. Not that he couldn't be a gentleman to a whore as well as to anyone else, but Tom figured that it was better if he avoided situations that might prove...troublesome. It would also not be polite to let Teagan know that he had taken her for a lady of the night, due to her clothing...so he stuck stubbornly to the subject of the Baskar. "But I have little patience with the sort who can see a woman half dead with terror and not give a damn. Pardon my tongue, Mistress Caradoc-I'm just..."

Tom sighed. "I'd like to fix that. For Renna, of course-I want her home; but not just for her. I dunno that I put women up on some kind of holy pedestal, and I'm not sayin' that they're clods who can't do anything for themselves, but I figure that it's a hard role to be born into. More often than not they don't have the resources to avoid that sort of-I mean-and last time I wasn't able to do anything. I can't tell you how much that galls me."

He stared at his hands. "I don't really want to be a hero, either. It just ain't fair."

The farmer was silent a moment, then managed a smile with a serious effort and looked back up at the cook. "Tell me when your friend gets in. I'll pay her for a session and let her have a rest, aye? I imagine it's not an easy line of work." He colored as he spoke, though, and almost immediately listened to the mental alarm that went off when there was even a slight chance of his meaning being misunderstood. "Er, I mean, a real rest. I don't want to-I-" He faltered and went quiet.