|Baby Animals in This Direction|
|Summary:||Dmitry, Rosanna, and Kittridge discuss conversation topics and personal likes.|
|Date:||June 11, 2012|
|Town Square — Terrick's Roost|
|The town square of Terrick's Roost was once considered well-kept. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise sprung up between them, although dark streaks of stubborn soot have crawled in between the stones. There are several homes and shops located here which show the scars and cinders of the sacking of the town at Ironborn hands. The ruin of the town's Sept can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road.|
|June 11, 289|
Not every official manly meeting gets a sisterly accompaniment, it would seem, for though her brother is visiting at the castle, Rosanna has stayed behind in the town. She has a handmaiden and guard by way of escort, though the latter is giving her enough distance that it's hard to tell he's with her, but for the way he keeps his eye on her. And probably the Groves livery. Okay, not /incredibly/ hard to tell. The youngest Groves exits one of the shops, looking unburdened by recent purchases. Possibly it is an inferior shop.
It is from a tailor's shop that Dmitry wanders out onto the street, although he is also not burdened by any bags or boxes. His hands are tucked into his pockets and he moves at a sidling pace with a faintly abstracted expression, though the wander of his dark eyes stills and sharpens with the bare flicker of a smile on his lips as he sights Rosanna. Neatly and clad in grey with an understated purple and gold stitched and frogged into his doublet, he changes his directed angle to walk up to her. "My lady," he says, with the sketch of a little bow. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Oh, Ser Dmitry," Rosanna says with a flicker of a smile as she pauses in her wander. She lifts a hand to smooth back a lock of auburn hair. Her gown is a deep, dark green that goes well with her coppery hair and fair skin. "It is — a pleasant village. I have not been here long since before the men crossed the sea for the war."
"I am glad you find it pleasant; I am sure it is only brightened by your return after such a long absence." Dmitry's smile is slight, but lingers with the cant of his head as he shares these idle courtesies with terribly accustomed charm. "I hope that the hospitality of our House has not been wanting, since last we spoke?"
"Certainly not," Rosanna replies, though not without a wry slip of a smile. "Although it is, perhaps, a little odd. There seems to be a certain disagreement about how much hospitality there is."
Dark eyes glinting, Dmitry lets his lashes over their gleam, and shakes his head. "Alas," he says. "That is strange, isn't it? I should have expected better of us, myself." It is possibly inevitable that he goes on lightly to suggest: "Though perhaps I was too courteous? In the presence of such a beautiful lady, a man might be expected to accidentally say all manner of foolish things. I am sure you have seen it happen before."
A laugh almost — but doesn't quite — part the curve of Rosanna's lips. "Is that the excuse offered to your goodcousin, then?" she asks him with a hint of tease. "My beauty inspired you to discussion of such marital subjects? I am rather doubtful she would believe you, considering my own hand does not seem to be a subject of negotiation."
"I certainly have no explanation to offer to Lady Anais," Dmitry answers regretfully, although he spoils his air of wistful tragedy by adding much more dryly, "or for her, for that matter."
"Well, it is not for me to be offended," Rosanna says with careless dismissal. "And Kittridge is not very prone to it, either."
"Excellent," Dmitry says, immediate, bright and crisp, "I shall try not to insult him." He settles his weight back on his heels, hands folded neatly behind his back. "Whither next, my lady, as you enjoy the town?"
"I had been wandering from shop to shop," Rosanna admits. "Unless you had someplace of particular interest you could recommend, my lord. If you are to play tour guide."
"I could pretend to such a task, but I am afraid that my guidance would be full of lies, a mockery of a true tour," Dmitry says, spreading his hand in a wide gesture. "I know some of this place since my return here, but I would discover it anew at your side, for the most part. There's my tailor over there." He tips his chin back from whence he came, and then returns his glance to her face, eyebrows up. "Other than that…!"
"Well, if you had not warned me as such, you might have been able to act the part with me being none the wiser," Rosanna says with a teasing warmth in her smile. "But now we shall never know how well you perform, will we?"
"A curse on my tongue for its candor," Dmitry says, letting his fingers rest over his heart as he looks passably stricken. He is pretty quick to recover: "But I did not tell you your beauty was like to make a fool of me?"
At this she does laugh aloud once more, though she sounds entirely pleased. "Well said, my lord," Rosanna compliments him. "You never do seem to ever be at a loss for words."
Dmitry favors her with a bright smile, dark eyes lit with humor as he glances at her a little sidelong and sly. "Of course not," he says. "What a horrible thought. Why, I'd have to be silent, if it ever happened."
"Silent," Rosanna says, aghast. "That wouldn't do. You say such pretty things."
"Exactly," Dmitry says, opening his hands. "Horrible thought!" Blithe and light-voiced in his embrace of the ridiculous, he grins at her with a boyish cast to the expression and again lifts his dark eyebrows. "Let us chase off the spectre of this nightmare and talk of something nice instead, Lady Rosanna."
"Something nice?" Rosanna muses. She stands in the square with Dmitry, nearish one of the many shops about the town. "Hm. Did you have something in mind, ser? There are so many nice things one might talk of."
"Gardens, poetry, fine wine, fine food, baby animals, minstrels, the outrageous social faux pas of others," Dmitry ticks these helpfully off on his fingertips. Stopping at seven, he tilts his head and studies his fingers. He comes out with #8 after a moment: "Tourneys?"
"Are you just listing off things I like?" Kittridge asks as he approaches, "Are you helping her pick me a nameday gift? I can walk the other way and pretend I hadn't heard," he jokes. But it is his nameday. Rosie you are the worst sister ever.
"Did your cousin really kiss Lady Roslyn in the middle of Tordane Tower?" Rosanna wonders, choosing number seven. As if there's any other choice. She glances over at Kittridge and rolls her eyes. "I don't need help from someone who barely knows you." MAYBE THAT IS WHAT SHE IS SHOPPING FOR. Nameday presents bought the day of. Classy.
"My felicitations, Lord Kittridge," Dmitry says with the sketch of a bow, eyebrows flown up over the slight curve of his smile. "As the lady needs no help from me, I must swear to not have been offering any." His eyes are still laughing as they flick back to Lady Rosanna; he lifts a fingertip and taps it to his lips, and then says, "So I hear. Altogether romantic, isn't it? Don't you just want to write a song about it?"
"And yet there he was listing all of my favorite things," Kittridge says, "Gossip and gardens and minstrels and baby animals and tourneys?" He grins jokingly, and nods to Dmitry, saying, "Thank you, ser. I think we may hold a bit of a hunting party at home in Kingsgrove to celebrate at some point, perhaps after the tourney. You should join us, if you'd care to." As for Justin and Roslyn, he chuckles, and says, "Oh yes, the stuff that poets dream of."
"No, those are my favorite things," Rosanna insists to her brother. "You must get your own. Like hunting." Looking back to Dmitry, she says, "I suppose someone might, although it is hardly very remarkable. Unless they insist on some passionate love affair after their families cannot agree on a betrothal."
"I should be delighted to attend," Dmitry says. He is sober-faced for as long as it takes him to say, "And I shall have to find you a baby animal and the news of some horrible embarrassment somewhere as my contributions to the party," but his smile lingers bright in his eyes all the while. He cocks an eyebrow at Rosanna. "On the contrary, my lady; such a wise heart as to fall recklessly in love with a lady during contract negotiations is worthy of a song. I think we can all only hope for hearts as wise as my cousin Justin's."
"Wonderful," Kittridge applies to Dmitry before laughing at Rosanna, "Fine, fine. I'll get my own list. Though I am keeping minstrels and laughing at other people on it, and you can't stop me. And baby animals, or Ser Dmitry's gift will be for naught." He smiles widely, and then laughs at the Terrick's description of the budding romantic epic. "He claimed this morning to merely like her, and that kissing her was foolish," he says, "I'm not sure whether that makes his heart more or less wise. I think I'm inclined to say more."
"Ser Dmitry should bring me a baby animal," Rosanna says. It's her nameday every day, obvs. "Kissing her for liking her does not seem terribly romantic."
"Ah, well, he may disappoint the bard in my soul yet," Dmitry says with a low chuckle in his exhalation, shaking his head. "Should I?" he asks Rosanna with a slight widening of his dark eyes.
"He doesn't seem a very poetic soul, to me," Kittridge opines, "But I can't say I know him so well as you. Do you write songs, then, Ser Dmitry?" he inquires, half-teasing, half-curious.
"Yes," Rosanna declares. "I'd be far more appreciative than Kittridge." Who probably kicks puppies or something. She laughs at her brother's tease, though. "I imagine they're very witty, if he does."
"Alas, no," Dmitry demurs, shake of his head slight and smile slanted a trifle crooked as his glance skips to Rosanna and then away again. "I have been known to play the songs of others from time to time, but I am more reader than writer, for myself. Though I will thank you for your kindness, my lady," he tells Rosanna with great solemnity. "It is not many men who have so much wit as to be witty while playing the harp."
Kittridge rolls his eyes at his sister. He does not kick puppies. "I imagine they might be," he agrees of Dmitry's potential songs, before lamenting their lack with an echoing, "Alas. I never quite picked up the knack for it myself, either. I play the lute a bit," he says, "I tried the harp once, but it didn't take."
"Oh, I am sure you would be one of them, though," Rosanna tells Dmitry with full assurance.
Dmitry's smile flickers wider for a heartbeat as he inclines his head to Rosanna. He says, "The harp was my mother's instrument. Rank sentimentality, I know." He flips his fingers in idle dismissal of a topic brought casually. "Though with a tourney around the corner, I believe we all look to showcase skills with a bit more dash than a stringed instrument."
"Ah," Kittridge nods as Dmitry explains, "I just happened upon the lute, there's no real story behind it." At the mention of the tourney he chuckles and nods, "Yes, I suppose so. Do you intend to compete? I don't recall seeing you at the Twins."
"Yes, nor I," Rosanna adds, now that Kittridge stole what I was going to pose about. "I don't recall seeing any named Terricks there. Although Ser Inigo was there, so that's Terrick blood, at least."
"Oh, I mean to, yes," Dmitry says with something a little careless about his smile. "Cousin Inigo should not have to stand for us alone, after all."
"What's your event?" Kittridge inquires, now that he's called dibs on this line of conversation, "I'll probably joust again, I suppose, though I don't fancy my chances if the Redwynes really bring a bunch of knights from the Reach. Practically all professionals, there, I've heard."
"Oh, I bet they'll ride beautifully," Rosanna says a bit wistfully. Hopefully all Redwynes are also gorgeous.
"I shoot." Dmitry is casual about this pronouncement, too, for all that his ranged fighting habit is not the most typically knightly pursuit. He glances sidelong at Rosanna, hint of smile tucked at the corner of his mouth. "I expect the jousting will be something to watch, indeed," he says, "if that's so, and I'll wish you luck, Ser."
"Ah," Kittridge nods, "Of course, I should have guessed." Having seen Dmitry's shooting in action several times already. He also glances at his sister, and smiles faintly but says nothing, instead nodding, "I expect it will, and likely not for any contribution of mind. But it will be fun to try, at any rate, so." He shrugs, "Why not?"
Rosanna looks faintly disappointed by Dmitry's event of choice. Shooting, Dmitry? Really? "Well, I'm sure you'll do well," she says anyways, because it's polite.
"I promise to shoot very prettily, my lady," Dmitry tells Rosanna with a laugh on his breath. His eyebrows up, he glances back at Kittridge. "Why not indeed? Every loss is a victory compared to the contest never entered, is it not said? I don't know; actually I have a terrible memory for proverbs."
"Something like that?" Kittridge replies, "A loss in the hand is worth two victories in the sow's ear?" He waves a hand dismissively, and grins, clearly joking, and says, "Well, I wish you luck, Ser Dmitry. Perhaps I'll enter as well, I hadn't really considered it, but I've done a reasonable amount of shooting myself. We'll have to see! It sounds like it will be quite a tourney in any case."
"Well, I suppose if you shoot prettily," Rosanna says with another laugh. "I'm sure you both will have admirable showings."
"I do," Dmitry avers firmly. Of course, he probably thinks he does everything prettily. Smile bright but brief, he then inclines his head to Kittridge. "My thanks to you both. Something to look forward to." Glance lifting, he looks up the way back from the square, and says, "Well— I suppose I should be on my way, though, and leave you to your enjoyment of the town."
Kittridge laughs at Dmitry's assurances, and grins, inclining his head in return. "Indeed," he agrees, and then says, "I had best be going myself, as well. Good day, Ser Dmitry. It was pleasant running into you."
"Good day, Ser Dmitry," Rosanna carols after her brother, even as she sidles up to Kittridge to slip her hand through his arm to be going.
"Good day," Dmitry agrees with a little bow for them both, and then he turns and saunters off on his own path somewhere. Maybe baby animals are in this direction.