Sanguine, still in his Gwen suit, stayed right on his minion's tail despite orders to the contrary. "You're seriously gonna do it?" he asked, smirking.

"Yes," Mhairead replied smoothly, not looking back. She'd returned to the wagon to fish out some of the supplies they'd brought, which, sadly, wasn't half as glorious as Gwen had made them out to be. Candlesticks, a pair of scissors, half a pair of shoes that'd seen far better days, wilted cabbage, one slice of hard cheese, and a random assortment of second hand clothing counted among the valuables smuggled out of the Dibellan temple. Fortunately, she found the bundle to contain a serviceable pair of trousers.

"But you don't even know the guy," Gwen posed. And really, neither did he. The goat thing was completely random, but inspired. And the goat herself really was quite nice, as far as livestock went. The farmer? Eh. Providing a diversion, but not much else, which surprised him given how goat-centric the mortal's little universe seemed to be.

"No, I don't," the Breton agreed, inspecting the trousers more closely. She wiggled a finger through a moth eaten hole in the backside, frowning, but seemed satisfied with the construction otherwise. "Never been through here for more than an hour or so."

Gwen sighed, hand at one rounded hip, in a pose he'd observed many a time over the years. The effect it had largely hinged on what gender one was. "So why do it?"

Mhairead slipped a leather belt from the bundle as well. "Because, whether or not I actually did what he thinks I did, its the right thing to do," she replied, starting to head towards the inn. "But, you don't have to come with me. It'd probably be safer for you if you didn't."

He huffed, crossing his arms beneath Gwen's ample chest, watching Mhairead ascend a short flight of rickety stairs and head indoors. And as soon as the Stormcloak was out of earshot, he grinned, chuckling, "But where'd be the fun in that?" before following suit.

Inside, Gwen found the wagoneer propped up at the counter, already three steins deep and not going much less driving anywhere for a while, and Mhairead halfway through convincing the innkeeper to let her borrow a room.

"Only for a moment," she assured him, nodding. "Just want to change."

The older, balding man with permanently etched scowl considered her at length. "S'pose it won't hurt anything," he sighed, reaching below the counter for a set of brass keys, tossing it across for Mhairead to catch. "Don't be long," he added.

Mhairead thanked him, oblivious or ignorant to Gwen's presence right behind her as she unlocked and entered one of the rooms, pushing the door behind her with enough force to presumably allow it to close under its own weight, and tossing the pants on a narrow bed. It looked every bit as comfortable as the innkeeper did.

Gwen stepped lightly around the creaking door as it gently swung shut, holding his tongue-barely-while Mhairead began extricating herself from the lightweight robe.

The Breton's forehead creased with effort as she tried to unpick the knot in the fabric belt. It'd worked itself tight since the wagon ride from Markarth, and did nothing at this point to keep the robe's panels evenly shut, evidenced by how it had started creeping down her shoulder. Her tanned, toned arms were lightly freckled, delineated by a swath of much, much lighter skin covering her shoulder blades and continuing down her spine, and small of her back.

"Need a hand?" he finally offered, hands clasped at his back as he rocked on his heels, smiling pleasantly.

Mhairead's eyes shot up.

Gwen smiled harder.

The innkeeper wasn't sure what the yelling was all about, but a moment later, the Breton emerged from the borrowed room-robe rearranged and tucked neatly into trousers as a belted tunic-followed closely by the plump, dark woman who'd also arrived by wagon earlier that day. The Breton did not seem pleased.

"Keys?" the innkeeper prompted, gesturing, a little surprised when Mhairead almost spiked them on the counter.

Outside, red faced Mhairead began rolling up the sleeves of her tunic-nee-robe, heading back down the cobbled lane with purposeful strides. "Stay with the wagon," was all she'd say, not sparing a glance back for Gwen.

"And miss the action?"

Mhairead halted, whirling to face her companion. Her flushed expression was stern, gray eyes searching Gwen's face intently. "There's supposed to be a giant up on that hill," she said in a quiet, steely tone. "I've no weapon, no horse, no armor, and no chance of engaging it should things go south. Hopefully, there'll be no 'action' for you to miss by doing as I tell you and staying. With. The wagon."

Gwen pouted.

Mhairead closed her eyes, cradled her face with one hand, let out a deep breath and pushed upwards to comb fingers through her auburn hair. "Please? I'd be more worried about you than myself, up there." She half smiled. "Or some goat."

Gwen shrugged. "'S fine."

"Thank you," the Stormcloak said, almost a question, resuming her walk. She paused. "You're sure its fine?" she asked, eyebrow raised. As if she knew.

Gwen waved. "Really, it's fine! Go find your goat. I'll be riiiiiight heeeeere." He patted the wagon bed.

Mhairead studied Gwen for a moment longer, then continued in earnest towards where they'd encountered the farmer.