"Malia seems thoroughly engrossed in that new tome," the paladin mutters. "Does anyone know the subject of it?"
"Oh, it's not a spellbook," the archer reassures him. "That's literature."
"Oh, aye?" The relieved cast to him fades into suspicion of her tone. "Literature."
"It's called A Maiden's Journey to the Elf Wood," the archer says, grinning, waits, then prompts, "Maiden. Elf Wood. Wood?"
He looks blank and disgruntled.
"Arlo...it's smut."
His eyebrows shoot skyward, and he shoots an involuntary glance over his shoulder to where the wizard is primly sitting, book cracked open before her. She licks a finger to turn the page; he flushes.
"It's lunchtime!" he protests.
The archer shrugs elaborately. "The wizard knows no boundary of propriety," she says cheerily.
"Wait," the paladin says, in slow outrage. "The wizard's propensity for naps after lunch — her insistence she can't get so comfortable unless you nap along with her — !"
Steadfast-Be smirks and pats his arm. "She needs her sleep, brother," she says. "We prefer she not be out of sorts, aye?" and ambles away in Malia's direction.
Some minutes later, the berserker wanders by, and rests a hand on the paladin's shoulder, where he's sitting watching the wizard and archer; the archer lying on her back, head in the wizard's lap, eyes nearly closed as Malia cards fingers through her hair.
The wizard seems to be quietly reading her passages from the book in her other hand.
"Why are you chuffing like a dog who sniffed pepper?" the berserker says, and the paladin gives him a familiar look of hangdog suffering; of outrage, and self-exasperation at his own reaction.
"They don't take lunchtime naps at all," he says, gesturing. "It's an excuse to fuck!"
The berserker snorts a laugh loud enough for Malia to look up from her reading, head cocked. "Horseshit," he says, quieter, vastly amused. "They put the wind up you, you wilting maiden. Unless you think Steady's sat on her face every time, you'd know, aye? Loud little thing, our wizard," and laughs again as the paladin covers his red face with a hand, before settling in behind him and pulling him into the warm cushion of the berserker's chest.
