|A Delicate Brute|
|Summary:||Merel comes across Locke doing laundry and the pair trade insults, talk about their bruised knights and other things.|
|Related Logs:||Melee at the Twins|
|Grass and horses! Lots of knights!|
|May 25, 289|
A day after the great melee in the Twins, and many of the more common types have begun leaving. Indeed, not too far off from the Groves' tents perhaps down a path, but close, the area where the common lances were camped is looking meagre and thin as opposed to the swell that had taken the area at the start of things. As it is, it allows for a quiet early afternoon. Some still sleeping, others healing.
For his part the young man known as Locke Septswood, finds himself occupied. A line stretches tween two trees-and on that line dangles wet clothing. Grunting, The boy, who deems to do this chore shirtless, is hunkered over a thick bucket, while he scrubs on some black thing-could be a tabard, a surcoate, or a shirt. Who knows. Either way he is hard in his task, and not scaring for the sun on his scarred back.
Not everyone, common folk especially, can afford to linger after the tournament is over and all chance of glory(money) is more or less finished as well, though likely plenty of folk linger another day for the celebrations(booze). Though she's about as common as they come, Merel is with the Groves party. This, she's still here, walking along some path on some errand likely and darting around people as they pack or leave or run errands themselves. She does pause seeing a familiar person, silently observing before commenting, "Have you only got the one shirt?" Hello.
Locke glances up from his work, and there is a flush on his cheeks, though it would be more or less out of embarrassment in being caught doing laundry than worrying about someone seeing him without a shirt on. Eyes narrow at the girl, and Locke looks back down to likely give one of Benedict's shirts a good thrashing in the water. "I'll have you know I own three shirts." And that's probably as numerous as his clothing gets. "How many do you own?" He asks, before he is raising a brow back to Merel, before he's tilting his head. "Any how th' bloody hell are you here?" The proper sentence would be, How come you are here, but Locke is not one to be bothered to use such things as proper grammar and all.
Merel looks about as non-pulsed as ever in regards to laundry and shirts, though there might be a glint of amusement in her eyes at his embarrassment, whatever the cause. "They all dirty, then?" Because you seem to be missing one. "Enough," she answers without specifying a number of shirts, tilting her chin up into the air. She wrinkles her nose at bit at his sentence, such as it is. Some grammar wouldn't kill you. "Same as you. Someone brought me."
And eyes narrow, as he doesn't look up. Instead he finishes, before he is looking back towards the line-where he is moving to grab a grey shirt, and replace it with benedict's own shirt that's dripping. "Had some trouble with mud for the past few days if you weren't aware." he states before he's jerking it on and down. "I weren't brought- I came. UNlike you I got a purpose for being here." Him, being a squire and all. "What do you do besides kick rocks everywhere?" He asks as he folds his arms across his chest. Yes, that was a serious question from Locke.
"Way it's been raining, you could just stand outside let it all wash off." It does not really work as well as actually washing of course, but it makes for a decent rebuttal. Not that Merel herself is exactly pressed and polished and free from dirt, but she's been running around plenty. "You came on your own. By yourself. Weren't brought by your knight, who you're following around." Color her skeptical. "I don't kick rocks everywhere. Or I'd be kicking one now," she points out. Obviously. "I do lots've things."
Locke snorts "Like what? Bein' a pain in my ass count as a job?" Locke retorts back, before he is shifting his weight. "He didn't have to carry my on my shoulder, like whoever brought you did, or a cage? Is that how you was brought?" And he is looking back to the bucket, perhaps seeing if there are any clothes left for him to wash, thankfully it seems like his job is done-for now. "Who is your minder?" Because that will help things.
"You must be real sensitive, bothered like that. And lazy, if you think this is a job." Merel makes a face, rubbing her palm on a sleeve. Or she's just really that obnoxious. "I don't need to be carried and I'm not some kind of pet, neither." Briefly, she sets her lips into a flat line before tilting her chin up and staring Locke down. Who's her minder? "Ser Tommas Belte." You know, the giant.
The squire looks back to her. "Or maybe you're just that bloody obnoxious the times I've seen you." Though she does get some reaction from Locke with those words. A blink. "The rather tall fucker?" he asks as if the giant needed another description that wasn't as apt as 'giant' Either way, he's now lolly gagging properly. "So what do you do for em?"
"Sensitive," Merel decides firmly of Locke instead of her being that obnoxious, even as she probably puts that into doubt by adding, "Delicate." Tommas probably doesn't need another description and she doesn't seem happy with that one, frowning slightly at the squire. "Watch it. Yeah." She nods sharply, then shrugs. "Do a lot of errand running. Chores. Help Septa Day with whatever she needs. Tommas is all bruised now, he needs the help." Tommas gets some genuine sympathy.
Locke raises a brow. "Delicate? I could throw you over a bloody log. What makes you think I am delicate? Or you trying to poke my dander?" he asks with a step forward. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't do anything about it. instead he just watches Merel for a moment before he is looking back to the dripping laundry. "Bein' tall ain't an insult. Lots of men ain't tall." he notes before he is looking back towards Merel. "My knight got all bloodied last night. I'm not good at patchin' skin."
"That'd just make you a brute, if you could. Being easily bothered is what makes you delicate." There's a hand gesture that goes with the statement, sort of cradle-like, but it's pretty vague. Merel's expression doesn't change at all when he steps forward, even and unmoved, but her posture tenses up subtly the way one does to be ready to move. "Tall's not an insult." 'Tall fucker' isn't really either, but it's not polite. Because she is the poster-girl of polite. "Yeah," she says and pauses. "Yeah, I'm not so good, either," she admits. "Not so much as he needs, anyway."
"I am a brute. You know I've killed men before? Cause I totally have." Locke states with a bit of annoyance. "Stop it." A bit of a growl to his words, and still he is riled up. A shake of his head and he is relaxing for a moment, his hands coming down as if he's lowering some armor, or he's tired of holding his arms such. "What do you know of polite?" he asks back before he's shrugging. "Does your Septa know things? Mind you, I'm sure Ser Ben will be fine. I just." a grimace as he chews on the right word. "Worry.." And there he frowns again before he's walking over to sit down in the grass, which will likely get him muddy again. No matter. "I saw him out there. I didn't see how bad he got it." Tommas that is. "Is he alright?"
You are probably having a bad day when you need to insist you are a big, tough fighter to an audience of one small, unimpressed looking teenage girl. Laundry may not be very satisfying of impressive, but at least it doesn't talk back. "So have I!" Is she telling the truth? She certainly looks serious, but one might think it unlikely. At least Merel stops calling him delicate. For now. "I know plenty." About being polite. She just isn't using it here. "Yeah, Septa Day's good. She's looking out for him." Apparently that kind of worry at least is something she understands, because she doesn't pick on Locke about it. "He got hit in the neck a lot," she explains with a scowl for Lorcan. That jerk. "I think he'll be alright. Looks bad, though."
Well his day wasn't stellar beyond means. Still he's looking back to the girl and there's a raised brow as if to silently ask the question on everyone's minds. Really? Still he is happy being able to sit down on the soft turf for the time being. "Oi, that's a rough spot. You can kill a man without lopping off his head if you hit there enough." the youth notes before he is reaching up to scratch his chin. "Mine got nailed in the neck and in his guts." Locke states. "You think your septa could look 'em over?"
Lock can raise a brow at her all he wants, but Merel doesn't back down on her claim or qualify it any. Or explain, for that matter. He will just have to believe or not on his own. "Yeah," she mumbles unhappily, expression twisting briefly unhappy ay the thought. "But he's alright. Or…he will be." There's not a lot she can do, but she sounds determined that it will be true. "Don't know anyone else, huh? I could ask." She certainly can't order.
Locke will do that AS LONG AS HE WANTS. Still he keeps that look for a good long time before sighing. And looking away. "Good. I'm glad he is okay. He's got a lot of courage an grit for such a tall fu-friend." he adds awkwardly before he's shaking his head. A glance back to Merel and he laughs. "You'd be right there. I'm not- well I haven't been here in a long time. Only folks I know is Lord Kattridge, an Ser Ben..Some of the fellas in Lord Blackwood's party..No one else though-really." a brief pause. "I kinda know you."
Merel is unmoved by your skepticism. So she is either the stubbornest liar ever, or there is at least some truth there. "Easier to be brave when you're bigger than everyone else, I think," she notes, but doesn't want to talk down Tommas so continues to say, "But yeah. He's got a lot of courage. And…patience." Big surprise. "I've been more places in the last few months than I ever have before." She squints a little at the name curiously. It sounds like Kittridge but isn't, okay? "Your knight must know some folk." She considers with a brief pause of her own. "Kinda, yeah." Even if maybe he wishes he didn't.
Well, even then He does know her. So there. Still Locke nods. "Eh. Even if you're smaller you can be brave." He adds on. "People never expect the smaller ones, lass." WAIT WAIT WAIT. Is Locke being nice to Merel? Probably not. Or yes, Who knows. "Eh, I would expect patience. Given you being you." Ah there is old Locke right there. "He does..though I am sure they were wishin he didn't." speaking of Kitt. "Where all you been?" the Squire probes suddenly.
"Didn't say you can't be, just said it was easier when you're big." Not that she'd know much about that. "No," Merel agrees suddenly serious, "They don't." Hey, look. She hasn't insulted him for several minutes now. He can live with being a little nice. Even if it's not sincere. Or only lasts a few seconds. "Not half as much patience as you knight must have." That was still probably a record in being civil to one another. "…He so bad as all that?" He probably has no business trying to 'fix' Locke then. "Seagard. Stonebridge. Terrick's Roost. Now here."
Locke nods. "Yeah, but you're brave right?" he asks back to the girl before he is falling silent enough. He's not going to explain his knight to Merel, lest he says something stupid. Instead it seems that the squire is going to press at where she has been. "That's a list. I've been to the Iron Islands, The Stepstones, and almost went to the Vale." SO THERE. "I think I like it here the best." he adds on.
You might think her response to being brave would be a firm 'yes', but in reality, Merel just shrugs her shoulders. She doesn't miss the lack of response about Locke's knight, but maybe she just takes that as PROOF he's bad or something. Or maybe she's thrown off by the mention of the Iron Isles, which gets a tight look. "Riverlands seems good enough."
Locke doesn't really think about anything, besdies hitting things. And who knows what else. Still he's just nodding to her own words. "Yeah." agreed, before the Squire is looking back. "You need help with whatever you were doing?"
Goodness. Read a book sometime, Locke. Get a little culture. "You done with that laundry or just trying to get out of it?" Merel shakes her head. "I'm just fetching something." Not something dire, since she's loitering here, apparently. "Though you could come back with me if you wanted to talk to Septa Day about your knight," is offered a little hesitantly.
"Done. His Knightship has his pants just fine. An our shirts are to dry." Locke adds with a thumb over his shoulder to the line. And slowly he moves to stand, dusting off his pants as he rises. "That'd be fine. I think it'd be good for me to meet someone else of your House and all." Though he doesn't really specify why.
Merel looks at the line and shrugs slightly. Alright. The comment about meeting someone else from Groves earns Locke a bit of a side-eye. "Why?" Oh, did you not want to be specific?
A beat. "So that I know more people." Of course. and Locke is looking back to her, as his arms cross over his chest. "Well what you lookin at? Lead on!"
Of course. Merel continues to look at him with some suspicion. At his demand to lead on, she blows out a heavy sigh. "Fine, fine." Maybe regretting this already, she turns and continues the way she was going.