Eesfelt shouldn't have been playing. Or felt the satisfaction of teasing. But the tighter draw of Shy's sinew when he inspected the boy closer was incredibly gratifying. It wasn't the kind of bullying he used for his men, to strengthen familiarity and loosen their shoulders. During his rise a few nobles who liked to wear armor brought their wives with them to campaign. The way he lorded over those women came to mind now. It was not what he'd thought of himself. But it was delicious to see the young soldier squirm under accusation. In Will's defense, Esfelt wore nothing on his face to indicate these were jabs of camaraderie. When Shy begged, Esfelt almost groaned in approval. Fucking Selin and her long-lasing joke.<br/><br/>Once the abhorrent distraction had gone to follow his ridiculous instructions, the knight found a mouth of glass for his lips, so that the strong wine could occupy his thoughts instead. The men they were about to fall into were rumored to be otherworldly, to fight after death and to have furnaces in their chests. He would rather have arrived to them today, so he'd never met the drawing youth. He thought about this in his half-broken chair until the wine started to taste like water. He sighed and rubbed his head with the bottom of the carafe.<br/><br/>The clear, expensive vessel enjoyed none of his patience for having reminded him of his own scale of reason. This was celebratory levels of intoxication, then, he mused as the bottle became jagged stars against a leather wall, somehow. Strong arm and weak tastes, he thought. He had the time to run out and track something for sport, to find his mind again. Why was it so important he be clear-headed for when the boy returned? He had won difficult victories while slurring. These used to be his talents, damn it, fucking and fencing.<br/><br/>He did feel better, gliding back in. Perhaps it was the alcohol setting evenly in his blood, or maybe he'd seen something favorable in the woods. On his way from the slit to the abused seat, he dropped pieces of his armor to line his advance. Like a dragon molting. Despite not indulging in women's offerings in years - hellish, miserable years - he still had the physique for it. He suspected Selin had something to do with that too, since he'd not changed from that day, either. If the enemy whispered about demonism they would be disappointed to know the truth of his cross.<br/><br/>There was nothing of that sullen now, leaning on the still intact arm of his privileged furniture. He rolled his free shoulder which made all manner of shadows around his muscles when the boy came back. Esfelt still had armor on his legs, which had been tactical, given the boy looked absolutely suggestive in cloth. Those shapes were a curse, as they were whispered in lithe through the folds of the old tunic. But still the knight smiled as he stood.<br/><br/>"Seems so." he said, friendlier now. Shy couldn't have met with too many politicians in his life. The tone might not reveal itself to be venomous to him. Silverum moved quickly, the gold in his hair gone during the night, and most of those streaks in his eyes too. Black tresses and black stare. Ah, Shy smelled like the whore who'd lost a son and liked to wash her work off in the running waters of a river outside Esfelt's old home. She'd found refuge from the sorrow of nostalgia in the young Silverum, and taught him a few lessons Selin had rendered useless.<br/><br/>"Let's see." he suggested and suddenly wrapped his hand around one side of Shy's head, to hold it in place as his face pushed against the other side. He drew so deeply forest-pool drops climbed his nose. It must have been incredibly loud in Shy's ear. After the sudden squeeze, Esfelt pushed the boy away, and with a hooked foot around a small ankle, he was planning to topple the guest in his tent. Esfelt was on him then, wrestling if the boy wanted, but it would only end with the boy's back on the tent floor, anyway. Her legs would be around him, because the knight knew well how to direct physicality.<br/><br/>"Are you afraid?" he asked, pushing metal guard down against the apex between those unprotected legs. It was Shy's blessing without Esfelt knowing, that not both of them were wearing worn fabric. "Because the Coldmen will be doing worse to you." A strange way to say welcome to my party, but then again, it seemed there was something else about Esfelt's grin, too. "What else have you washed?" he pressed, shadows from his irises spreading down his cheek with the suggestion. Hadn't Shy been careful enough, weaving under branches? "Have you been thorough-- boy?"