"There aren't enough weapons," she replies, inching forward so she can hush her words as best as she can. "I've started to sneak one or two away from places they might not notice, the kitchen, the stables, the housekeeping rooms, but funny enough, I can't find us an axe, a trident, or a bow." Said like that, it sounds as if she's pitching some strange and fantastical combination of items. "And the doors don't always lead where you expect."

She'd figured that out by opening a door and getting a frosty face of snow in greeting. "No one's tried to kill me, though, and they haven't seemed to notice that I'm squatting in a room. The lap of luxury," she notes condescendingly.

She's eased close enough now that she can arc her foot down and splash him with the water, an intent to try and rile him continuously ongoing. "I could get used to it."