[center][h2][color=lightblue] SAE.[/color] & Laurence.[/h2]
[i][b]D[/b]rinks for the lost.[/i][/center]	

	Laurence was getting frustrated at this point. Nearly a quarter an hour of wandering around the camp, seeing neither hide nor hair of a common area, let alone a mess-tent. He found the cooks easy enough, following the smell of roasting food and the plume of smoke rising plaintively towards the sky. He'd been hopeful there, but he left even more frustrated, receiving only vague directions, realizing finally that this was not a well laid out camp, and still lost despite the size of the camp. It certainly wasn't a Glasshorn camp, with its straight rows and broad central avenue in which tents of import are pitched, easy to navigate despite the size.

	Laurence decided that enough was enough. He'd ask someone who looked like they hadn't just arrived. A minute later, he realized that there weren't many that fit that bill. Taking a new approach, he wandered up to a clever-seeming lad, noble by the looks of him, speaking casually once he approached.

	"Ere lad, yer know where the mess is? I can't find hide nor hair in this jumble o' tents!"
        
	[b]S[/b]aewine felt his clothes grow heavy on his body. He could see no end to the rain, both figuratively and literally. It poured on the ground like a maiden sprinkling her garden zealously. He looked down at a dirty puddle, incapable of seeing his reflection on its rippling surface. He supposed it was only fitting for his predicament. 

        [b]H[/b]e took a step forwards, readied to try his luck at wandering around. The moment he decided, a burly voice boomed towards him. It belonged to a tall man, strong-armed and scarred. Saewine begin to wonder if he was the only person there unfit for war. Everyone else seemed either overly strong or experienced in the art of death. 

        [b]S[/b]aewine looked away from the man before picking his—clean—ear out with his pinky. [color=lightblue] “[b]Y[/b]our voice … its quite the thrashing.”[/color] he grumbled, slinging his black dufflebag over his sunken shoulders. [color=lightblue] “[b]S[/b]orry, but I don't. Perhaps one of these drunkards could tell you.”[/color] He gestured towards a man stumbling about like a newborn.  He was short on trust and quiet honestly, was near afraid the man was planning on killing him later. 

        [b]B[/b]est to keep the conversation short.

	"Oh sorry 'bout that lad, always was a bit too loud for polite company, yer know?". Laurence grinned, and purposefully lowered his voice. "I took yer for some feller knew his way round, is all. You've got that look about you, I suppose, not like these lackwits and thieves." Laurence extended his hand in greeting, glad he left his sword back with his horse. The lad look put off enough without six feet of steel waving about.

	"Laurence Attewood, pleased to meet yer. Fancy a drink? Figure you and me can't take long finding one, and I find myself short an ale partner."
        
	[b]A[/b] [i]drink[/i]? This man wanted to drink even with ensuing storm to come. A blood bath of swords and shield clashing. Arrows piercing skulls and chests alike. He was either a freak or oddly familiar with the workings of war. A veteran pehaps. Then a idea struck him like the back of his father's hand, both sudden and shockingly. 

        [color=lightblue][i][b]I[/b] could use this man. If I get in cozy with him. Make friends. He could very well become [i]my[/i] retainer. A rough-around the edges one but one nonetheless. Monarch knows I'll not last a day out there on my own.[/i][/color]

        [b]E[/b]ven with his genius plan, he was caught off guard on how to approach such a warrior. If he was anything like Richard, he was as sharp as a refined sword. [color=lightblue] “[b]S[/b]aewine, “[/color] he answered with a noble's softness but a young man's tone. [color=lightblue] “[b]B[/b]ut just call me Sae. I … think I will like to join you for that drink. Better to make friends than enemies, right?”[/color] 

        [b]T[/b]hough he had no idea where to find the tent with drinks, he was willing to follow behind the brute of a man with cautious eyes. 

	Laurence was convinced this lad was some sort of nobility now. The name didn't sound like something you'd name a farmer's son, for one. He spoke like a nobleman too, though without the sneer of confident superiority. That presented the obvious question of 'why is a lord's son joining a mercenary company as something other than a retainer or officer?', but Laurence didn't think he'd ask it. That sort of question isn't like to have a happy answer.

	"That's right lad" Laurence chuckled "Can never have too many friends, never have too few enemies if you ask me. Come on then, two sets of eyes'll find the mess before long."

	Indeed, they came to it fairly soon, nestled behind a sprawling tree just out of sight of the main body of the camp. An odd place to put a mess, but Laurence didn't think too much of it. He walked into the tent, entering a surprisingly quiet space, fewer men than he'd expected and fewer women than he'd have liked, but the fire was warm enough, and the ale was cheap. Laurence bought some of the better stuff, likely a good investment to making friends with his new noble acquaintance. Finding a seat on one of the long tables, he began to drink with relish, waiting for Sae to resume the conversation.
        
	[color=lightblue] “[b]W[/b]ell … you'd certainly never find a king here.”[/color] he whispered as they strolled inside. The dark tent echoed with the rain outside but none inside was bothered. They were too busy enjoying the fiery drinks of their choosing. 

        He took a seat before the other man. He felt clammy and dirty, less than what he normally was. A noble … that title meant little amongst these ruffians. He gazed hard at his fingers, they laid palm upwards on the table; his nails were crusted with mud. Without thinking, he went to work to cleaning them. 

        [b]B[/b]y the time he had gotten to the last finger of his first hand, his company had returned. Saewine looked at the mug with hesitance for several seconds. [color=lightblue] “[b]A[/b]ye, thanks.”[/color] He reached out with his cleaned hand and pulled the wooden mug to him.  It smell oddly familiar, sweet and aged. [color=lightblue] “[b]W-[/b]Why did you join?”[/color] he wondered. 

	Laurence stopped sipping his drink and laughed slightly, preparing to respond. "I think you can guess why I joined, lad. Man like me's got few talents besides using a blade, and I know it well enough. Tried to do something different for a while, but every man needs food, and I couldn't afford much more without work." Laurence considered returning the question, but again thought better of it.

	"I been a mercenary before, most of my life in fact. Nearly fifteen years in the Glasshorn Company, figured I'd take a break and try and do some good." Laurence grinned with gallows humor "As yer can see, it didn't go so well. So, I figure, here I am."
        
	[b]S[/b]aewine nodded with the least amount of effort, his own thoughts trailing back to his lack of survival skills. He was no good with a sword, never trained with one and probably never would. And on top of that, he still couldn't grasp his mind around his Father's decision to send him here. To abandon him to the dogs. He clutched the mug with renewed vigor. 

        [color=lightblue] “[b]Y[/b]ea … certain circumstances have led me here as well.”[/color] He brought the drink to his lips, letting the fire run down his throat. Afterwards he hacked up a dry coughs before sucking up the pain and easing himself back to normal. 

        [color=lightblue] “[b]T[/b]his world is a bit unfair. Why must I fight the war of another,”[/color] he muttered, sinking his head into his folded arms on the table.

	Laurence's smirk waned slightly. He knew better than anyone the world was unfair. He'd lived most of his life getting the better end of the deal. Being strong and good with a blade were gifts that were not available to most men, and they'd paid for their lack with their lives more times than Laurence was willing to count. It seemed, however, that his companion had different reasons for thinking the same way.

	"Well, world is certainly unfair, lad, but I'm sure there's some reason you're here. If yer had no reason to be here, I figure you wouldn't be. I'd be gone faster than yer could blink, if I weren't getting paid. I don't know why yer here, but if you want to take the unwelcome advice of someone with a few years under his belt, I'd figure out why you're here, and if that reason's good enough for the risks."

	Laurence took a drink, and laughed as a realization entered his head. "Fuck me but I sound like my father. Who'd o' thought I'd be sitting here lecturing some stranger. Sorry 'bout that lad, must be age catching up to me sooner than I'd like, eh?"
        
	[color=lightblue][i][b]S[/b]ound advice.[/i][/color] 

        [b]S[/b]aewine slowly lifted his head back up before taking another sip from his mug. It nearly caught him off guard but he was capable of holding it down and looking somewhat like a man. [color=lightblue] “[b]A[/b]nyone else would have gotten angry I suppose. You're not a bad person, Mr. Attewood. And for that, I'am grateful for your company.”[/color] He raised his mug up towards the man. 

        [b]H[/b]e had not seen his plan on gaining this man's trust going in such a direction, but either way it been a good start.

	"Aye, I'm glad chatting as well. Yer a good sort, I can tell. I'll keep my eye out fer you, and I hope you'll do the same. Can never 'ave too many friends on campaign, I say."

	Laurence raised his mug, clattering it into Saewin's in a slightly-too-forceful toast, and drank deeply, enjoying the good drink and good company, happy to have met a noble who could stand his company for more than a minute.