<div class="floatleft">(https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D2A1rZtUwAMogf6?format=jpg&amp;name=large)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Alec Redwater<br/><strong>Race and Occupation:</strong>Haunted Human Mercenary<br/><strong>Location &amp; Time:</strong>Country roads, Mid-day. Just after it stopped raining.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Allie<hr/><br/>Th mercenary brushed his jumble of bangs aside and swallowed again as Allie innocently mentions how lucky she was to meet him. He glanced down to follow a trickle of water slowly dance its way down her breast past one of her pink nipples.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Alec's inner monologue</div><div class="spoiler_body">'Wow....Umm..Yeah friends! That's what we are, and seeing naked comrades in arms is perfectly normal. I saw many of the Legion naked at some point. Most of them lads though...By the gods she has great tits!.' </div></div>Sniffing he notices that she is right, he is soaked. Not to mention the view she presented was causing him to chafe, uncomfortably so.  He knew if he stayed drenched to the bone he might catch his death of a cold. As she tugged at his armor he smiled and tucking his wet glove in his belt, walked over to a reasonably flat gravel patch on the bank. Plopping down with far more practical movements than elven grace he tugged his boots off and tossed them away from the water. He cast a few lingering glances at his companion as she washed. "No. I meant...Forget it. I'll watch your back and you watch mine," he shook his head slightly bemused by her lack of girlish modesty.<br/><br/>His now bare feet slapping as he walked, with care he untied his cloak and hung the blood red cloth over an exposed root to dry next to his sword. He began undoing the clasps and straps of his armor, each piece of metal he sat neatly on the shore in the sun. It was almost a ritual the way he moved with practiced hands to undo just the correct thing to allow another article of armor to come loose in turn. Vambraces and his other glove. Then rerebrace. Next pauldrons. Breastplate and its mate. Finally greaves and cuisses. As the last bits of worked steel were laid out, he reached down and pulled up his thick wool tunic with a practical athletic grace of his own. All lean muscle and toned physique dusted by a fine coat of brown hair across his pectorals, a light trail of which went from his navel down into his waist band; his only blemish were a soft pattern of faded scars across his forearms and shoulders. Last he stuck his thumbs into his breeches, and slid them down to his ankles before kicking them off. His cheeks were several shades of red as he stood there in his cotton skivvies, but he seemed determined to take his role as her protector seriously.<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Alec's inner monologue</div><div class="spoiler_body">'I feel like a bloody idiot....'</div></div><br/>"So are they dangerous? The frogs I mean," he asked eyeing a yellow frog roughly the size of a turnip that had hopped up on his breastplate to warm itself. Careful not to disturb the little creature he struggled to hang his tunic up on a frame of drift wood sticks in the sunlight.<br/><br/>Her bird calls made him wonder as she broke out in a wordless tune. "And is that a language? Those bird calls you make?" His knowledge of elves was about as good as his knowledge of farming. Which is to say, not very much at all. He leaned back on the gravel propped up by his elbows to still keep an eye on her as they talked. Her sensual movements as she washed her thighs and the bounce and sway of her perfect breasts as she worked soon had other parts of him rising to stand guard as well.