"One of many is only one, and I'm not particularly fond of this one anyway." A shrug; she said it as she tracked down all the myriad buckles and clasps and unlatched them, the motions smooth and automatic, almost habitual. At some point, the woman spent quite a lot of her time getting some man out of his armor. Her hands spoke quite loudly on that score, not needing words. As for seeing him out of uniform? "If you want to be smart, I've never actually seen you in uniform, technically." A toothy smirk. "Not that I don't like a man in uniform."
The button provoked a startled look, then a sudden laugh as she plucked it from his palm, her fingers covering it over, then with the same hand she unclasped her leathers to reveal her cleavage and tucked the little item away, in the space normally reserved for her cards. "I think I did, honestly." And then the breastplate was off and she was at his back again, prodding the wound with linen and deft fingers, determining how serious it was and if it would need stitching. She was a clever hand with a needle, if she could find one in the dresser. "You'll listen to these orders, trust me. But correct me if I'm wrong - your people usually send entire troops down on apostates, don't they? Take no chances and all that. Seems counterintuitive for you not to have any backup waiting."