|A Giant for Tea|
|Summary:||Rosanna and Tommas breakfast together.|
|Date:||May 22, 2012|
|Related Logs:||Tourney stuffs.|
|Groves Tent — The Twins|
|Purple and green, bitches.|
|May 22, 289|
Another morning at the Twins. Rosanna is not quite morning-ready to go out, but she's decent enough inside for family as she picks cheerfully through some sausage and eggs. Her hair is still plaited to wind down in front of her shoulder, and she's speaking animatedly to Laurel without expecting any reply. "I just mean, that if he doesn't compete in the melee, I'll have given him my favor for nothing, and he really shouldn't have asked for it. So he really has to compete and make a good showing. It'd be dreadfully embarrassing if he was knocked out early." Poor Laurel.
"Who shouldn't have asked for what?" Wonders the shadow that slowly spreads over the small Lady with her plate of eggs, cast by sunlight that filters into the tent as the flap is shifted open. Tommas has his own eggs and sausages in hand and he flashes Laurel a quick smile as he moves to pull up a seat. Poor Laurel, indeed. Surely she's used to it.
Rosanna hesitates the barest moment before answering in a carelessly blithe tone, "Lord Rutger shouldn't have asked for my favor. He was going to joust, but his sister got him sick. He still says he's going to compete in the melee, though."
"Ah," Tommas replies, stabbing a bite of sausage with his knife and then popping it between his teeth. The big knight chews for a minute, watching Rosanna with a level expression. "A man can't help if he gets sick, little Lady. There's not shame in that — although you might not want it bit, considering." Germs. Ew. "If he does compete, I'll look forward to seeing him there."
"Don't look at me like that," Rosanna complains as Tommas chews at her. "I know you don't like him, but it's no reason to behave like you don't."
"I wasn't looking like nothin', my Little Lady. I was chewing," Tommas protests with a low laugh.
"I am not stupid, Tommas," Rosanna says with a sniff. "I know when people are looking like things."
"Of course, you're not stupid," Tommas replies with shake of his head, spearing another bite of food. His smile grows and tips conspiratorially. "Lest you wouldn't have that brother of yours tearing his hair out nearly so often. Or be keeping Day so occupied." Look. He was looking like eating. The evidence is in the way he does so again, chewing another mouthful. Omnomnom.
"There's no need for Kittridge to tear out his hair," Rosanna opines delicately. "I am not doing anything untoward."
"I didn't say that he was doing it at the moment, lass, just that he does. You can't blame him with all that Stonebridge…business," Tommas replies with a smile. "I am put out that I'll have to look for a favor elsewhere or do without, mind. Do you think your Mistress Laurel there'd be willing to give me one?" He wonders, flashing a grin at her handmaiden as he stage-whispers to Rosanna. "Lord Kitt's sure seemed to do him wonders."
"Well, maybe you should have asked me earlier." Rosanna nibbles delicately on a sausage, then frowns at his whisper. "I don't know why he felt the need to ask Lady Roslyn."
Tommas laughs at that, scooping up more food. "Aye." He should have. "Now don't be unkind, Lady Rosanna. She may be a bit long in the years, but she seems to be a nice la — Lady."
"I like Lady Roslyn very much," Rosanna claims. "But Kittridge shouldn't lead her to believe his attentions are serious. We're not going to make two marriage alliances with the Naylands."
"Well, might be he just wanted to make her Ladyship feel fine in the spirit of the spirit of the tournament. I can't imagine she gets asked so often for her favor by men who aren't family," Tommas suggests kindly.
Rosanna gives him a skeptical look and sniffs. "Maybe," she says with clear dubiousness.
"Now who's giving looks, m'Lady," Tommas teases lightly, eating some more of his breakfast. "There's no harm in a favor. Even common lugs like meself have been known to wear one now and again. It might be that it'll sweeten Kitt's disposition to visit the Mire again too…"
"Without me, I'm sure," Rosanna laments melodramatically.
"I'll bring you back a wee frog if we do," Tommas promises. "Nae. I don't think Kitt's much likely to do that without you. He took you up along to the Roost, didn't he?"
"No one wants to marry me at the Roost," Rosanna says with a hint of impatience.
Tommas blinks and squints a bit as if not quite sure how to respond to that one. Hrm. "No?"
"Kittridge doesn't want to take me to the Mire because Lord Rutger wants to marry me," Rosanna explains in her patented you-are-so-dumb tone of voice. "He's not afraid of the Roost."
"I imagine your Lord brother also doesn't want to make it look like you're desperate to marry this Lord Rutger, neither. Since you aren't. Seems awfully formal to visit the man your courting's home and the like," Tommas refutes gently, loyal to his Lord. "At least that's how it's been with my ilk." Nobles are different. "He'll take you when it's time, little Lady."
"Lady Roslyn invited me before we were even courting," Rosanna reasons. "Lord Rutger is hardly the only reason why I would visit."
Eating some more of his quickly disappearing breakfast, Tommas takes a moment to consider that bit of news. "No, but he is the one you mention first. The Lady Roslyn does seem keen for the visit — can't say I'd mind neither, that day you met us on the stair she was telling me all about those alligators."
"You should tell Kittridge we should visit, Tommas." And here Rosanna makes prolific use of those big brown eyes, looking yearningly across at Tommas. "He'd listen to you."
While those eyes are known to make the big man's will waver, they do little when edged with such melodramatic dissent. "He might, but your Lord brother'll make up his own mind on this. Mark my word. He also needs to speak with your Lord father soon, about the whole thing, don't her?" Tommas replies, dropping his gaze to his plate after meeting those eyes.
Rosanna huffs out a sigh. "We were just at home," she says. "He should have spoken about it then."
While those eyes are known to make the big man's will waver, they do little when edged with such melodramatic dissent. "He might, but your Lord brother'll make up his own mind on this. Mark my word," Tommas replies, dropping his gaze to his plate after meeting those eyes. *RE
"But you could help him make up his mind," Rosanna reasons, still big-brown-eyesing at him.
"I think you're putting a wee bit too much stock in my persuasive manner, Little Lady," Tommas returns with a crook of a grin and a laugh. "You can't push Kitt too hard to make a decision, he's a bit of a bull like that."
Rosanna frowns down at her remaining breakfast in dissatisfaction. "Well then how am I supposed to make him take me for a visit?"
"Try giving him time to come around the idea and feel it's his own. Pushing at it'll just make him dig in his heels." Tommas continues to eat his own breakfast, showing no little appetite. "Now." Ahem. "How're you finding the tourney otherwise? There enough pomp and majesty for you?"
"He's had time," Rosanna says with another sigh, but then seems to let the topic rest at that. Her expression lightens at his question. "It's so exciting," she says. "They should hold tourneys all the time."
"Oh? You don't think you'd get bored of all the loud, shiny knights then," Tommas asks amiably, setting asided his empty plate with a smile. "What's been the bit you like best?"
"Kittridge being champion, of course," Rosanna says with rare loyalty for her brother.
Tommas smiles at her loyalty. "He did ride fine, didn't he? I'm glad I did nae enter," the giant admits.
"He did," Rosanna agrees. "Will you compete in the melee?"
"I was thinking I would," Tommas says, ducking his chin in a short nod.
"I imagine you'd be quite the terrifying sight," Rosanna declares. "You're quite large." In case he forgot.
"Should I want to be terrifying, m'Lady? Seems like that'd be giving people the wrong idea of me," Tommas questions with a chuckle, scratching the blunt end of his nose. "I had though the ceiling was getting a mite close."
"I should think you'd want to be terrifying when you're competing," Rosanna says, canting her head at him.
"Depends on the kind of man you mean to fight," Tommas offers. "If it is an easily shaken sort of fellow, then aye…being terrifying can get you out of trouble before it has a chance to start. Other men'll take it as a challenge. Try to fell the giant. Men are wont to grab for glory, melee combat brings out the fiercest sort."
"Oh." Rosanna considers this as she picks at the remains of some eggs. "I suppose that makes sense. But I'm sure you'll do well no matter what." Because he's her giant.
"My thanks, my littlest Lady." Tommas smiles warmly at the youngest Groves noble, placing a hand over his heart and bowing slowly. "I should go see to my duties and see if I can't convince your brother to spar. Take care." Collecting his plate, he rises and waits to be dismissed.
Rosanna sighs another long-suffering breath as he makes to abandon her. "Very well," she says, flicking her fingers at him. Dismissed.