|Dances in the Common Tongue|
|Summary:||The word dance seems to mean 'makeouts' when properly translated.|
|Related Logs:||Melee at the Twins|
|Town Square — The Twins|
|The garlands, with their sprays of coloured flowers and ribbon, have been rescued from the tourney grounds to decorate the town square, peppering the stoney streets with bright spots of colour. A motley band of musicians have been rounded up, each keen to out do the other with ever quicker tunes to make the dancers twist and turn. Ale, and a lick of something harder, has been set out to make the most of the merriment. The town girls are in their sweetest skirts and ribbons and the lads are pressed and sharp as they can manage, hoping to make a presence despite the surfeit of dashing knights.|
|Fri May 25, 289|
It does not take long for the the party in the Town Square to get rolling to a full tilt as the sun sinks down the sky. Not unlike the fair local lasses in their skirts and ribbons, Sofya is a an animate figure near the booze with her dark waves of hair and neatly embroidered dress. She collects two glasses of ale, dancing through the crowd towards the Terrick champion with a smile. "Ser!"
Keelin has his own mug of ale, at the moment, but he's found himself a good spot to sit and people watch for the moment. Thus he catches sight of the young woman bringing a drink to Hardwicke, and it brings a big grin to his face. He lifts his cup, drinking the liquid down in one long chug, before he gives a sigh of contentment. So he missed the melee due to unforeseen circumstances, whatever. At least he gets to party.
Hardwicke is not yet smiling in the party spirit, but it's early yet. "Yes?" he says, turning from — whatever he's doing. He's not great at parties. Where is his wife? She is the great one. "Oh," he says, peering at the ale. "Thank you, Mistress—" He squints at her, clearly recognizing her from her time at the Roost, but not quite having gotten it down yet.
"Dale," Sofya supplies helpfully, smiling warmly as she dips her head. Then she takes a sip of her own ale, swallowing before adding, "Sofya Dale, I'm Lord Vance's retainer. Lady Clara's son. My mother actually served at the Roost with her, when she was still in residence." She flits her fingers, shooing about inconsequential details about placement. "You rode brilliantly in the joust. I thought a cup of ale might serve as a better salutation than just a greeting."
"Right," Hardwicke says. "Dale. Lord Vance." He eyes the ale a moment more before taking it. "Thanks, then. Mistress Dale."
Keelin gets to his feet, as he heads to get more ale. His mug is now woefully broken. And as he goes, he gets three mugs, this time. And he makes his way back towards Sofya and Hardwicke, amusement quirking his lips slightly. "Ser Blayne. Mistress. I bring you a gift," he announces as he nears, and sets down two of the three mugs, one for each of the two. The party is in full swing, and the drinking and rowdiness is just getting started.
"My apologies, Ser Blayne. I seem to have started a trend," Sofya says with a soft laugh, gaze skipping from Keelin to Hardwicke and back again. She slips her slightly emptier glass into her non-dominant hand to accept Keelin's offer. "My thanks, Master…?"
"So how long am I the recipient of gifted ale?" Hardwicke wonders with dry humor, although he's certainly not refusing the piling of ale being laid at his proverbial feet. "Ser Keelin," he both identifies and greets the man. "My thanks."
Keelin gives Hardwicke a grin. "Probably at least until you make it home and get celebrated there," he says evenly. "Nicely done, Ser. My compliments." And then he turns to Sofya, bowing without spilling a drop of his ale. "Ser Keelin Dorsey, Mistress Dale. At your service." He can't help it, having been perhaps around the nobles a bit too much.
"For as long as the shine from your victory lasts, I'd imagine. Not a bad credit to your valor," Sofya suggests with a smile, before taking a sip of her first ale. It is pretty decent ale. "Good Ser, a pleasure," the dark haired Vance retainer greets. If Keelin has been around the nobles for too much, there's not much to say for Sofya in that regard either; she dips into a delicate curtsey at his bow, while double-fisting mugs of ale which to her credit she does not spill. Perhaps not all the traits of nobility have rubbed off. "Did you ride, Ser Dorsey? I don't recall you from the melee."
They are all three of them rather too socialized with nobles, aren't they? Hardwicke snorts at their respective estimates and takes a gulp of ale. "I suppose I ought to enjoy it while it lasts. Sure it would have been longer if I'd been able to stand up a few minutes more to the Nayland." Grarar.
"I'm just glad to have you up and about after such a pitched battle," says Belle, joining Hardwicke and taking his arm. "Sorry I'm late. Bean decided something we ate for lunch disagreed." She rolls her eyes. "I have no idea where our child might get a finnicky, contrary nature."
Keelin grins at Sofya's answer and at Hardwicke's snort. As Belle arrives, Keelin snaps his fingers. "I'd have brought you a mug too, Mistress, had I realized," he says. Bean or no bean. Now, he's not about to comment on any child or its nature for fear such things might be contagious. Instead he takes a gulp of his ale, before he looks back to Sofya. "I did not ride, but was entered in the lists for the melee. Alas, I had a family matter come up, and thus missed the entire melee." Which he's still not happy about, but that's another story.
"Bad fortune, that," Hardwicke says with something approaching sympathy for Keelin's missing the melee. He draws an arm stiffly about Belle's waist even as he scowls. It doesn't make the bruising look any prettier. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbles.
It's the middle of the age and ale is well known to be commonly better for you than water that hasn't been turned into tea. "Would you care for mine, Mistress Blayne? I seem to have two thanks to someone's kind gesture," Sofya offers, flashing an easy smile in Belle's direction. "I see. My sympathies," she notes to Keelin, flashing a decidedly more sympathic glance in Hardwicke's direction. He was one of the last few in the ring.
Belle shakes her head to both Sofya and Keelin. "Thank you both, but I'll wait a bit yet. I'm feeling quite recovered, but would hate to unbalance that. Some day's my beloved husband's get is less particular than others — this isn't one of them."
Keelin nods to Hardwicke, momentarily glum. "Perhaps I'd have given you a run for your money," he suggests. "Or perhaps I'd have beaten Ser Kamron out. Next time. For now, I think I shall drink my sorrows away." Simple but hopefully effective plan there.
Joining in the celebration of commoners is one more hedge knight: Ser Benedict Lawson. He's sporting an assortment of bruises, but he's dressed in clean, fresh clothes and moves with enough smoothness to suggest he suffers no injuries worse than some tender muscles and purpled skin. Gazing around the cheerful square, Ser Lawson heads toward the area where a fellow's most likely to procure a pint of ale.
"All right there?" Hardwicke thinks enough to ask Belle in a quieter voice. "I really don't see how this is my fault," he adds for good measure.
The generally Terrick aligned cluster is not too far from where the pints of ale are born. "Of course, Mistress." There is a feminine wince of sympathy for Belle's plight. Then, Sofya chuckles warmly at the married Blayne's light banter, eyes bright over her pint as she glances towards Keelin. "At least you stand in good stead for that, Ser? There is plenty of ale to be seen."
Belle laughs, grinning at Hardwicke. "Darling, if it's not your fault, I'd surely like to know whose it is."
Benedict procures a drink for himself before making his way towards the cluster of Belle, Sofya, Hardwicke and Keelin. "Sers," he greets, "Mistresses. Fine evening for a dance." Sofya gets a slightly longer glance and a smile before he adds, to Hardwicke, "Well-fought, yesterday. Second place. Finely done."
"Aye, there is that. Plenty of ale for all," Keelin says. He nods to Benedict as the other knight arrives. "Ser," he greets easily enough. "A good melee, a good joust and now a good party. Who could ask for more?" he suggests.
Hardwicke just scowls at his wife's response, because that is what he does. "It's my son's fault," he says with firm conviction before turning his attention to Benedict upon his approach. "You as well, Ser…?"
Oliva Snow is without her horse — miracle! She's definitely not prettied herself up, however, even if her gown has at least been cleaned and mended. Her dark hair is loose, drawn over one shoulder in a simple mass. Her strides are still sturdy, and her stature still steady. The Terrick's Mistress of Horses is en route for the wine, of course, though she is taking stock of those around her.
That longer look is briefly returned from beneath dark lashes as Sofya takes a sip of her ale, arching a brow at Benedict. "Indeed it is, Ser Benedict. If one is is spry enough to dance it after taking a bit of beating." Turning back to Keelin, she grins. "It has been a fine turn, hasn't it? Even with that miserable rain."
Mistress Blayne smiles bright and warm at Benedict. "I bestow extremely effective favors, do I not?" she asks with pride.
Keelin chuckles softly and nods to Belle. "You do indeed. Your husband is a lucky man," he says. "Though now I recall the one thing that might stir up trouble. Dancing." Ahh, there's the tricky thing, right? Where a fellow has to try to not break a lovely woman's toes while on the dance floor being embarrassed. Sigh.
"If only we all could learn your secrets, Mistress Blayne," Sofya comments with an amazed shake of her head and warm smile. Champion. And one the final few in the melee.
"Ser Benedict Lawson," he so named answers Hardwicke with a small nod. To Keelin he replies, "Only a pleasant dance partner, ser, if one is fortunate enough to find such a lady." He smiles at Belle for her own bright grin. "Your favors seem especially potent, perhaps because, if I have overheard correctly, they carry the well-wishes of two?" To Sofya, for her comment, he arches one brow upwards. "I believe one may be spry enough for such. Shall we endeavor to find out, Mistress Dale?"
"That seems to me to be reason enough for more ale," Keelin says, raising his voice slightly. He downs his current drink, and then flashes a cheeky grin. "I'll be right back with a round for all." With that he does head over to get the ale, but he's a hand short to carry it all, so a buxom brunette with a perky smile agrees to help him out. Within moments the ale is back, and Keelin's smile is turned on his helper. "Now then, love, how about a dance?" he asks. With a coquettish giggle, she agrees, so Keelin bows tot he group and trods off to the dance floor.
"Mistress Snow," Hardwicke greets Oliva briefly as he catches sight of her on vague approach. He snorts at Belle's pride, but does not look completely unaffected by it. He surveys the interplay between Benedict and Sofya somewhat skeptically.
Attracted to the sight of familiar faces, Oliva approaches the gathering of knights and other mistresses. At the greeting from Hardwicke, she actually offers him a broad smile. "Ser Hardwicke," she returns in friendly tones as she steps up to the group just as Ser Keelin sweeps the girl off to the dance floor — that particular space is given a cautious look.
Although Sofya is rather lacking in coquettish giggles, flashing a slight grin the direction of Keelin's buxom lass, she ducks her head in a nod of acceptance at Benedict's offer. "Let's." She smiles at Belle and Hardwicke, excusing herself softly and settles her two drinks down atop the nearby table. It's convenient and sufficiently weather-worn to have been dragged out from goodness knows where. Another brief smile is directed towards the approaching Olivia as she slips out of the group to follow Benedict to the dance floor. "Seems he found his partner," she notes wryly, glancing towards Keelin as they take the floor.
"Mistress," Benedict offers with a nod to Olivia. He downs a significant portion of his own ale before setting it down near Sofya's and leading Mistress Dale to the dance floor. "It seems he did," Ser Lawson agrees, following Sofya's gaze towards Keelin. "And so have I."
Keelin's chatting up his buxom beauty, throughout the whole song, though he does have to mind his steps. Thankfully it's not one of the pretty rarefied noble dances but a more common and easy to get into dance. Once over, he steals a kiss, and then heads back to the table, releasing his dance partner to go back to what she was doing prior. As he returns to the Blaynes, he catches sight of Oliva and bows. "Mistress," he says with smile and a bow.
"How long do I have before you try to drag me out there?" Hardwicke wonders of Belle a bit thinly. Maybe he can beg off due to injury.
Belle blinks, laughing as she gazes up at Hardwicke. "Do you want me to drag you out of here, or have you suddenly developed a social yen so acute that you're lamenting the thought?"
The music plays up quick enough that anyone ought to mind their steps, no matter how pleasant the conversation. Sofya tosses her head back with a laugh. "I think you rather missed your chance to chat up a beauty, Ser," she teases, eyes bright. "I hope you do dance well though." She moves easily into the steps, skirt flaring with momentum, hands laid upon Benedict as the dance requires.
"Ser," Oliva greets Benedict as he is swept up by Sofya in the same tempo she had given Hardwicke, but this time she follows it up with another smile. Now Keelin catches her eye — another familiar face seen around the Roost, but again one whose horse she probably knows better than the rider. "I don't think we've yet met," she says simply, trying her best to do as some of the stablehands suggested — meet people who don't have to eat out of feedbags. "I'm Oliva Snow, the Terrick House's Mistress of Horses."
"Keelin Dorsey, and you'd know my charger Tiny, I'd guess." The big black horse that is anything but. Still, the name amuses Keelin, so he keeps it. "A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Snow." He looks to Belle and Hardwicke and a smile sort of edges on his face, as he picks up his ale again. "D'you need a drink, Mistress Snow? We've plenty of ale." Cause he totally got a pitcher or three, now being bustled over by that buxom brunette he was just dancing with.
"Did I?" Benedict asks Sofya, brows lifting as the music picks up and he leads her in the steps. "Can't you talk while dancing?"
Rowenna sighs as she emerges from the Grand Hall on Jarod's arm. She glances back at the gathering they've just abandoned. "We might have stayed, you know," she says, apologetically. "He did say we were welcome back when we'd remembered ourselves. That doesn't necessarily require departure. I'm done hitting people."
"We made a scene. We were lucky we got to leave on our own feet rather than being bodily thrown out by Frey guardsmen," is Jarod's terse reply to Rowenna. Still, if he wants to yell, he seems to intend to do it later. As he's taking her in the direction of the commoner merriment. "You owe me a dance. C'mon." He stresses the owe part. All 'WHY CAN'T I HAVE NICE THINGS????'
The town square is split with clusters of people about where ale can be found and the whirling, spry couples who sashay across the dance floor. Sofya grins at Benedict's comment, light on her feet as she gives up the lead to him — perhaps thinking he might not know the dance. "I can speak fine. Clearly. I had thought you might be a man of ribbons," she says, smirking at a thought as she steps away to spin out and clap her hands. "Your squire is apparently a man of the rain."
"I figured it's inevitable that you'll ask," Hardwicke says to his wife. "I'm just wondering how much time I have before I need to start arguing." He glances over at Rowenna and Jarod's sudden entrance to the party, brow knitting, but they certainly aren't the strangest nobles to see at a commoner gathering. Er — strangest noble and noble bastard.
Oliva laughs at the mention of Tiny, and nods her head in earnest. "Oh yes… he is a smart one. He has learned much faster than the others which pocket I keep the sugar cubes in. By no fault of my own, he might become even less tiny than he already is." Then at the invitation of drink, she releases a content sigh and nods her head. "By the Gods, yes," the Northern half-pleads. "The biggest cup if you please." Her gaze turns slightly toward the arrival of the noble folks, and she arches one dark brow expressively over her equally dark gaze.
Belle's eyes widen a touch and she laughs again — this time a touch affronted. "Really? Suddenly I'm the one who doesn't like parties? You poor, put-upon dear." She pats his arm. "Don't let me cramp your style." And with that, she sweeps off to find herself a dancing partner.
Keelin snatches a cup and pours some ale for the Mistress Snow, passing the large mug over. "Here you go, and if it's not big enough, worry not. There's more to fill it several times over." He sort of blinks at Hardwicke and Belle, just staring for a moment, and then he steals Hardwicke's seat, settling down and looking over at Oliva. "So, it seems you are quite looking forward to a good party? Is everything okay?"
Rowenna smirks faintly, shaking her head and leaning up to kiss Jarod on the mouth — sort of improper and get-a-roomy about it, since they've escaped the Pit of Prim Propriety. "I do," she agrees, smiling at him. "Let's dance."
Hardwicke frowns at his wife's sweeping. "But I thought—" He scowls as she abandons him to find herself a more willing partner.
Jarod returns Rowenna's kiss, though it's perhaps not so warm as usual. His green eyes are still bright with what's probably anger, though it's mixed with a good measure of other things. But he's got nothing more to say. He's come to dance! He drops his arm from hers, only to try and pick her up and twirl her about, before swinging her and himself into the crowd of dancing commonfolk. The noble bastard, for all his occasional oafishness, is fairly light on his feet.
Oliva looks off after Hardwicke's wife, and she can't help but smile a bit to herself. Then she is handed a cup of ale, and she almost sighs at the weight in her hands. She looks as if she is about to drain the thing to its bottom, but she settles to taking a hearty gulp instead. She looks to Keelin, and shakes her head. "Tournaments are hard work for the stablehands," she states, rolling herself in with that lot easily enough. "I had intended to stay back and get ready for our upcoming leave, but I was bullied into coming here."
It would seem that even after being beaten up by a girl in the middle of a noble gathering, Rafferdy STILL managed to leave with a beautiful Lady on his arm. He leads Lady Katrin out into the square, smiling through his bruising face. He lifts his chin a bit as he looks around, "Finally. A real party." He looks at Katrin, "Shall we dance?"
Keelin arches a brow at the words he hears, as he stops at the last moment, stealing Belle's chair instead. Since Hardwicke is sitting there scowling at his wife on the dance floor. "I should think it is very much hard work, especially with the jousting." He continues to drink his own ale, as he chats. Though after a moment, he says, "But it seems that now you are at liberty. Would you care to dance, Mistress?"
"That was quite… a spectacle, My Lord," Katrin comments mildly to Rafferdy but she nods at the request of a dance. "You realize that you may have just gotten me sent back home yet again once my Septa discovers where I have run off to."
"Ribbons and the rain?" Benedict asks, following Sofya's motions, stepping back to turn and cap before rejoining her. Apparently, the hedge knight knows how to dance. "You are a woman of enigmas, mistress. I'm not sure I catch your meaning."
Oliva has taken another gulp of ale, nodding in earnest agreement with the knight. And then he goes and asks for the dreaded d-word, and she looks down toward the seated man with a quirk of her chin. "Your feet would be safer if you danced with your horse, Ser Keelin…" Then she sighs, and drains the cup with a bit of resolve. "But, I've heard this tale before, and you will just con me into a dance with compliments and insistence." The horse mistress still is all smiles, and she sets down her cup. "Lets have you then."
Rowenna is swept out into the crowd of dancers but her light-footed husband, though she doesn't look like she's enjoying herself quite as much as a dancing lady should. She watches Jarod's expression, gauging the eyes especially, as though trying to puzzle out his mood. 'Complicated' isn't typically a word associated with Jarod Rivers — but she doesn't seem to have him pegged, at the moment.
Rafferdy laughs as he takes both of Katrin's hands in his, facing her. "That was nothing. You should have seen what happened when I left my squireship to fight in the Rebellion." He grins, "Just make sure to tell him I was punched first." And with that, he begins to lead her in dance. He's not a master at dancing by any means, but he makes up for it by being fearless and excited about doing it. He is, apparently, not a wallflower.
Hardwicke makes with finishing off his drink as he eyes Belle and her chosen dance partner with an increasing agitation. Perhaps this is just Belle's way of making him dance with her.
Keelin actually winks at Oliva. "We'll be in good company then, because I cannot dance to save my life," he admits softly. He sets his cup down and reaches his hand out to Oliva's. Not a wallflower, but more likely a trouble making charmer of sorts. "So when we're done, we can come sit back, drink more ale and compare the bruises on our toes?"
<FS3> Jarod rolls Dancing: Failure.
"Maybe your local girls do it a little differently," Sofya admits with a quirk of her smile, glancing towards the girls in the square. A number do wear bright sprigs of ribbons in their hair or on their sleeves. "Or perhaps not, but whenever there was a party — all the girls would don their finest and put ribbons in their hair. It's not so complicated as that enigma." She grins, following the steps with a bouncy ease. "Your squire asked me to dance to the rain…can't say I know just what you've been teaching him, Ser. But that is a different portion of the knightly code than I've heard mentioned in public," she notes, sounding amused.
<FS3> Jarod rolls Dancing: Success.
"Oh, the punching is just a normal day in the life of a nobleman, yes?" Katrin asks as she follows Rafferdy's lead. She knows how to dance, though she seems a bit rusty. "I refer more to leaving a noble gathering with one who has caused such a ruckus. If I am not sent home, I will surely receive a blistering lecture for my lack of propriety and good sense." But despite this, she smiles.
Belle has, in fact, chosen a particularly comely young man to dance with, all smiles and charm as he spins her about. She laughs delightedly as they skip in giddy circles, without eyes for anyone other than her partner. Certainly not for her agitated husband. Hrmph.
"Then we're going to make a sight, and in front of the Lords and Ladies who've abandoned their own party," Oliva states in a wry voice as she takes the knight's hand with her own; her grip is not at all ladylike, though she does make sure to soften the strength behind it — its her fingers, calloused by work, that really confirm her harder edges. "And what does the winner of the bigger bruises get, my fine ser?" She inquires as she lets him do the proper leading to the dance floor.
Jarod is in a mood, that's certain, but he's found something physical to throw himself into. Which generally helps Ser Rivers put things in order. He's throwing himself into it perhaps a bit too intensely, however, as he nearly spins himself directly into her. And has to skip to avoid stepping on her feet. "Fucking seven hells…" he mutters, but he at least laughs as he regains his balance. And he keeps his hands on her close, one on her waist and the other on her shoulder.
"Then where are your ribbons, mistress?" Benedict asks with a laugh as they twirl and step their way across the floor. "Surely you knew you were coming to a dance before you arrived to the square?" The rest, though, causes a widening of his eyes and a hitch of his brow. "My squire," Ser Lawson repeats. "Did he now. My apologies then, if he was in any way… untoward."
Keelin's glance is roguish, as he leads Oliva out to the dance floor and then starts in on the dance. "If they've left their own party to join ours, they can make allowances for our way of dancing," he says, with a definite nod to his head. And should you win, you may select your prize." Course that might mean that if he wins, he gets to do the same.
Rafferdy shrugs, "It's normal in the life of a Nayland, perhaps." With a light chuckle, he continues to dance. She's much better than he, but he doesn't seem to pay it any mind. "I didn't cause that ruckus. Remember, I was punched first." He smiles, "And anyway," he looks around at all the dancing, "This place is clearly more lively, My Lady."
"Waugh!" cries Rowenna, laughing as they both have to do an impromptu jig — he not to step on her, and she not to be stepped upon. She shakes her head, grinning up at Jarod. "Somehow, I thought your enthusiasm for dancing was matched by — I don't know — knowing how to dance. Am I in danger, here?" she teases.
"I'm hardly a girl, now. Am I?" Sofya chides with a wide smile and a click of her tongue. "Mine were very bright though. I have not had them in my possession for a number of years, I imagine one of my younger sisters wears them in her own dark hair now." Happily guided, she is swirls about in her skirts with her dark hair hanging loosely about her shoulders. "Your squire," Mistress Dale agrees. "He is an…intense young man, certainly. No harm done. Although I did inform him he could ask me again when there was actual music." She crickles her nose in mild amusement, paired with honest words.
<FS3> Oliva rolls Dancing: Good Success.
Eventually, Belle's twirling dancing and fun have their (intended?) effect: Hardwicke drags himself onto the dancing area to scowl rather distinctly at the comely young man his wife has made a dance partner of. "That's enough, I think," he growls at him before taking his place. "All right," he grumbles to Belle. "You win."
Jarod spends 1 luck points on I CAN DANCE DAMMIT.
<FS3> Jarod rolls Dancing: Good Success.
<OOC> Jarod says, "FU FS3 I WIN"
<FS3> Keelin rolls Dancing: Failure.
Oliva laughs in that warm, contralto that is about as earthen as her looks. "Fair enough, Ser Keelin." And she also begins in the dance, and its familiar. She actually does quite well as she moves with her partner. It does not take her long before she is laughing, those divided skirts spinning about her in petal-like layers. It appears that whoever designed her dress did not mean for it to be danced in, though she manages not to make a complete embarrassment of herself in that regard.
"This does seem the better place to be," Katrin agrees. She laughs a little. "I feel much more at ease being out here, and not under the constant and careful scrutiny of my peers." She looks back in the direction of the more noble affair. "Is this why you constantly prefer being on the outskirts?" she asks.
Belle snorts a chuff of wry mirth. "Delightful. I love winning. What've I won?" she asks Hardwicke, eyebrows aloft.
Hardwicke scowls at Belle. "I'd sooner force myself to dance than stand over there watching you dance with someone else," he says, uncharacteristically self-conscious.
"Well, you are hardly an old maid," Benedict tuts in return. "I don't see how a ribbon or two could do any harm, not that your hair needs any to be lovely, tonight." He steps back, twirling Sofya away and then towards him once again. "He does have that way about him," Ser Lawson agrees for his squire, "I'll have a word with him."
But oh such a nice distraction for Keelin. He mis-steps early on, but manages to catch his balance, and then a second time, as it seems he wasn't joking about not being able to dance. Now it's his cheeks that go a touch red, as he's embarrassed even if he said he couldn't dance. "I'm sorry," he says, and then again the second time. "Dreadfully sorry. I usually at least have some grace." But apparently not this time.
Rafferdy nods, "It is." He shrugs, and gets perhaps a bit more serious, "I just don't seem to really… fit… in there." He shakes his head, "But this?" He smiles wistfully as he watches the commoners around them. "THIS I understand. Real people just… being."
Jarod snorts at Rowenna. And spins her faster. But he's properly coordinated to the tune beyond just working his anger out via skipping now, and he does seem to know what he's doing. All quick turns and hops and twirls of his lady. It probably helps that, now that he's gotten into it, he seems to be enjoying himself. The dancing, at least. He's still a little tight-jawed with something other than concentration.
"Stop tryin' so hard!" Oliva says jovially before she takes his hands in a firmer, more leading grasp. "Just have fun." And then she borrows a line from her own stablehand who chided her out the door this very evening. "You know how to have fun, don't you, Ser Keelin?" To be fair to the poor knight, she does simplify her own steps so there is a lesser threat to their own toes — her toes, specifically.
That dark hair whips against her skip with a crow of laughter as she is twirled away and then back into Benedict's arms again. "It'll be a disaster later, but thanks for the compliment," Sofya answers, smiling brightly up at Benedict. It is paired with a quick wink. "If you do, tell him I'll still make good on that dance. He's still got a fair few rough edges, although the lessons he is learning he definitely learned from you, Ser. There was a smile…" Tsk. "I have met enough knights to wonder if knightly charm is something of your vows."
Belle frowns, shaking her head slightly. "I didn't intend to force you to dance, Hardwicke. You've only recently fought a tourney, you know. But since you've suddenly developed an inexplicable fondness for social gatherings, I thought I'd make sure to enjoy myself so you didn't have to worry I'd spoil your fun."
"My fun?" Hardwicke says, scowling. "I was asking how long before you were going to drag me into dancing, woman. But I'd sooner not see you drag someone else just to make a point."
Keelin takes a breath, and he flashes a glance up at his partner, amusement on his face. "I certainly do know how to have fun, Mistress Oliva," he replies, teasing her back lightly. "But that sort of behaviour is frowned upon in public, mostly." At least he does settle into the dancing, stepping just a touch lighter, and managing so long as he's paying attention to not step on Oliva's toes.
Rowenna does seem to enjoy Jarod's skill, once he's got his feet under him — not nearly the dancer he is, but trying to keep up (and upright) is half the run. She shrieks with delighted laughter through some of the quicker turns, clinging to his shoulders at times. Still, every so often, a glimpse of that still-tight jaw dampens her mirth visibly.
One hand untangles itself from Rafferdy's grasp so she may lift it up to touch the forming bruises. Katrin winces a little at them but she never loses her smile. "People look at us and assume we have the world, but we know better." Her gaze shifts towards Rowenna and Jarod, amusement touching her eyes. "They seem to fit here as well," she muses.
"A smile?" Benedict enquires, flashing Sofya a rather brilliant one of his own, not so very dissimilar from the one Locke offered, if a bit more practiced and polished. "I don't know what you could mean, mistress." That smile softens however as he adds, a bit more quietly, "If this is disaster, it suits you very well."
Belle gives her Hardwicke an incredulous look — then giggles. She dissolves into mirth, grinning ruefully and shaking her head. "You asked how long before I'd drag you out — I thought you meant out of the party. Not out onto the dance floor. I couldn't understand why you were casting me, suddenly, as the ball-and-chain — but I was somewhat annoyed."
Jarod does smile, just a touch, at Rowenna's laughter. Even if his eyes still remain brighter, and more intent than carefree or merry. He catches her after a turn and, rather than turning her again. Tries to dip her. And kiss her. With far more tongue evident in the gesture than would've been proper at a noble party.
Oliva laughs outright at his words, and she shakes her head. "Had I the proper levels of etiquette, I would surely blush, Ser." And she cannot help but wink at the knight before she releases one of his hands so she can raise the other and twirl beneath it in time with the music. As she comes back around to face him, her gaze catches sight of the nobles once more, especially at the dip and kiss between the bastard knight and his lady.
Rafferdy flinches just slightly as she touches the bruising on his cheek, but he doesn't pull away. He nods, and follows her gaze to his sister and brother-in-law. He sighs, "They do. Because I think she understands it, as well." He looks back at Katrin. "She's my favorite Nayland, you know? Though…" He rolls his eyes, "I don't think she'll much fancy ever speaking to ME again." He sighs.
Sofya dips her head in a sharp nod, her own smile naturally warm and easy enough to soften her eyes. "Yes, that would be a very similar one. It's a fine smile to pass on, mind. Although it must be one of practice," she judges with lingering mirth. She has known more than a few fine, charming smiles in her day. The kiss and the dip of the nobles draws her eye, brow arched. "Goodness." Shaking her head, dark hair tumbles about her shoulders as she offers Benedict a crook of a smile. "I and my disaster appreciate the compliment."
"Well that doesn't make any sense," Hardwicke points out irritably to Belle. "Why would I say that?" And then, because he doesn't have anything else to say that's not grouchy, he pulls his wife in for an ale-flavored kiss instead. It's kind of like dancing.
Dipped — woo! Kissed — woo hoo! Rowenna responds quite favorably as Jarod's lips stop her laughter, clinging to his neck and letting the proper world be damned. Necking in the square is more than okay by her, just then.
Keelin grins at Oliva's reponse to his teasing. He's not meaning anything by it, just lazily teasing. "Oh now, if you blushed, I'd have to follow through, wouldn't I? Better if you don't," says the Mallister sworn. "Safer that way." Hey, he's already kissed one buxom beauty tonight. He wouldn't object to another.
"You certainly could have fooled me," Katrin says with a laugh. "What did you do to earn her wrath?" she asks. Her touch is very light. "I will say one thing for her," she muses. "She certainly does know how to throw a punch." She looks across to Rowenna again, brows lifting slightly at the public kissing. "Certainly not the most… traditional of women, but one I would have to hold respect for."
"I and mine enjoy the company," Benedict says, following Sofya's gaze towards the smooching Jarod and Rowan. And then to the equally smooching Belle and Hardwicke. "It seems there is a new thing done that is all the fashion at dances. I fear we shall be left behind, with the old style, if we do not act quickly."
Still laughing at her beloved grouch, Belle" leans up on tiptoes to twine her arms around Hardwicke's neck, returning his kiss with keen, sweet ardor. "I only need your arms about me," she whispers to him, speaking against his lips. "We can stand still and let the world spin."
Jarod doesn't neck Rowenna. But he does try to goose her, to get in a pinch of her backside before straightening back up. Breathing fast, from all the jumping around, and public making out. And whatever feelings prompted that whole display. He doesn't try to start dancing again, but just regards his wife. "That was all I wanted." The comment's pointed. "To dance with you, like a man should be able to dance with the woman he loves. And have a night we could be proud to be together in front of our friends and family, honest and as ourselves. That was all I wanted."
"No doubt," Sofya agrees wryly, steps slowing for the moment as couples begin to kiss around them. It is like the ball dropped or something. Ale o'clock and all is well. "I do not know, Ser. It seems rather modern."
"We must change with the times," Benedict opines with a soft smile, "Or risk being left behind."
Rowenna gazes at Jarod, listening. Nodding. She looks, for whatever it's worth, truly remorseful. "I know," she says, softly. "I'm sorry."
The Horse Mistress continues to smile even as she has to take a momentary pause to knot her hair up with itself to keep it from flying around her. She resumes with the sworn knight, and she shakes her head a bit. "Oh, and the Gods forbid there be follow-through," Oliva returns the teasing with the same measure of ease.
<FS3> Hardwicke rolls Dancing: Success.
Rafferdy sighs again, and speaks more softly to Katrin, so others don't hear. "I told one person something about her based on the information I had. What I didn't know, was that Riordan didn't tell me something that would have kept me from sharing it. And, it would seem, Riordan took it upon himself to tell a great many more people what I shard than I had actually told." He shakes his head, "It is what it is. I did say it, so now, here we are."
"Must we? I hear there is a place for tradition," Sofya teases softly, slate hued eyes bright.
"No indeed," Keelin protests. "I wager they quite like follow through," he says, as he moves a little closer to Oliva, searching her face. "Unless you tell me not to," he says, perfectly willing to steal a kiss from her.
Rafferdy sighs again, and speaks more softly to Katrin, so others don't hear. "I told one person something about her based on the information I had. What I didn't know, was that Riordan didn't tell me something that would have kept me from sharing it. And, it would seem, Riordan took it upon himself to tell a great many more people what I shard than I had actually told." He shakes his head, "It is what it is. I did say it, so now, here we are."
"That doesn't sound very much like dancing," Hardwicke rumbles back to Belle, not without a certain humor. He straightens up and attempts a few dance steps with surprising success. They are probably the simplest dance steps known to man. Don't expect anything more than that.
"Time and place, my love. Time and place," is Jarod's dry comment to Rowenna. Before he leaves her, and the other dancers, and strides toward Rafferdy. All square-shouldered and more tight-jawed.
Alek is drinking away his pain. Prettiness is likely in the eye of the beholder, given that his face still bears bruises along one jaw and a knot on his head, his nose set but still purpled and swollen. He does wear plain clothes, however, only a light tunic and pants, for now. The free booze likely summoned him more than makeouts.
"Must?" Benedict asks, brows lifting. "Of course not, mistress. Not if it lacks appeal. I should never force a woman into a kiss."
Oliva meets that searching look with those earthy brown eyes of hers, and she offers the knight a small smirk. At least its a pretty smirk, worn very well on her lips. "Remember how I told you that we've heard this story before, Ser Keelin?" She inquires with a coy tone, though before the knight can make a move, the elated Mistress steals the kiss instead.
"Very well, Ser Lawson. If you will sulk," Sofya teases. In HONOR of the festivites, she tips up on her toes to plant a kiss on the hedge knight's cheek. "There."
Day slips out of the noble gathering — simply to get a breath of air, it seems. With so many ladies about her mistress and no Nayland suitor to fend off with her patented Septa Glares, she's a bit superfluous as a chaperon. She leans against the wall just outside the door, not yet approaching the general revelry.
Katrin's expression tightens a little. "It is a sad day when you must protect yourself from your own siblings," she speaks in the same quiet voice, matching volume with Rafferdy. "Perhaps in time, things may be remedied… or at least understood if not forgiven." She is perhaps closer to the Nayland Lord than propriety might deem completely appropriate or is even necessary for such a dance.
In this, as in many other things, it seems to be the thought that counts — though Belle appears rather pleasantly surprised at Hardwicke's nimble footwork, she's positively melted at the heart of the gesture. She smiles up at him, following his lead, however simple, with graceful steps. "Have I mentioned today how I love you?" she asks him.
Rafferdy seems unfazed by her closeness. "I doubt it. You forget," he chuckles, "Riordan's the favorite. I'm kind of the black sheep." He shrugs, "Forget it for tonight. Let's just enjoy ourselves."
"I'm sure I could stand to hear it again," Hardwicke says with a grim sort of smile as he steels himself for the dancing. He certainly keeps it simple.
Well, it was a kiss. A wee little one, but a kiss, and it seems Benedict is gentleman enough to accept it, offering Sofya a faint smile. "How very gracious you are, mistress," the hedge knight says courteously. He falls back into step as the music carries on, though the turning and moving required, does cause him t notice a certain un-septaly septa standing by the door. His gaze lingers there a moment, as his body turns, until his neck is required to turn as well, if it doesn't wish to be twisted off.
Flask in hand, Alek approaches the shit out of the Septa where he catches sight of her, only a bare smile crooked on his lips as he holds his stolen wine towards the woman. "It is the Frey's, not mine. No grain alcohol tonight, either," he murmurs lowly. He adds only after, name rolled on his tongue, "Day."
Jarod clears his throat, one of those loud, pointed "A-HEM"s, when he's close enough to Rafferdy and Katrin to make himself obnoxious. "My Lord Rafferdy Nayland." All of formality. "A word." Though rather than a request, it seems more like the prequel, or warning, prior to more words.
"You have your good points," Katrin points out with a cheeky smile. "Otherwise I would not have chosen to join you out here." Jarod's approach and interruption causes her to stop their dancing and take a few steps back, though one hand remains on Rafferdy's arm.
Rowenna watches Jarod stalk off, all confusion — until she traces his trajectory to her brother. She grimaces, but makes no move to stop him or call him back.
All he wanted was a kiss, right? "Well, you did say you wanted a /kiss/," Sofya answers with a laugh. "You didn't specify which kind." Sofya smiles warmly in return and follows through the steps of the dance. She does not miss his preoccupation with a sight that is not her beyond the turns of the dancing couples, watching him as they turn the floor again.
Aha, that works as well, Keelin is good with either stealing or being stolen. He returns the kiss gently, and does not push it, being they've only just met and all. "YOu can steal kisses from me any time," he says to Oliva, with a hint of mischief. And he does remember that they are dancing, continuing along the steps.
"Ser Alek," Day greets the bruised knight with a smile. She reaches readily enough for the proffered wine, fingers brushing his. Then, unable to help a pained and sympathetic chuckle, "Your poor face."
"Well, I rather meant a scandalous one," Benedict points out, his mouth quirking a smile as he returns his attention back to his dance partner. It's a somewhat reluctant return as the last glance he got of Day was also of Alek en-route to speak to her. "But I suppose I was too courteous to specify properly."
Alek replies something lowly in Braavosi, all easy humor and warm as his own fingers linger on the flask for a moment before he lifts them to touch delicately at his stubbled jaw. "It has seen better days, unfortunately," he says with a laugh.
Belle obliges her husband with a wide, warm, lovely smile, still following his simplified dance steps. "I do," she tells him. "In no small part because I know you'd rather slay a dragon for me than dance."
As their kiss, brief as it was, ends, Oliva looks up toward the knight with a smile — no longer a smirk. "I would give you the same permissions, ser, but I think I would find my lips taken advantage of." And this is what happens when the Mistress is tasked to have fun — she becomes very dedicated to the task at hand. As Keelin continues on, as does she, though she does not spin and twirl nearly as extravagantly as she had before, enjoying the company as well as the music.
Rafferdy sighs, looking right into Katrin's eyes as Jarod speaks his name. "Damn." He turns and faces the knight. "Jarod. Go dance with your wife. You and I can do this tomorrow," he says softly.
"Do you deny, my lord, that you spread rumors in Stonebridge about your lady sister, impugning her reputation, and potentially damaging her attempts to gain herself serious recognition as an honorable armsman?" Jarod demands of Rafferdy, pulling out big words like impugning for the occasion. Though he stumbles a little over the last word. "Armswoman. Arms…whatever. Do you deny being a damager of it?" His fists are tightened but there are no punching attempts…right away.
"And it will again," Day assures Alek, taking a sip of the pilfered wine. She carefully touches the bruising alongside his nose. "You look as though you'll heal pretty enough."
"Have you seen a dragon around?" Hardwicke wonders blandly. His steps stiffen and still as he catches sight of Alek and expends a rather reflexive amount of energy glaring at him.
Sofya's mouth quirks in a mischhievous smile as she says, "You simply will have to learn to specify properly in the future. It is an important skill, you'll find, in getting what you wish." She gives the reluctant knight's arm a light pat as he turns his attention back to her and the players' song shifts to something new. Like now. She pauses, waiting to see if he wishes to take another turn of the floor or move on elsewhere.
Keelin chuckles softly, though nobody tasked him with having fun. "I protest. I'd never take undue advantage of such a lovely pair of lips," he says, whether it's a corny line or not. "But I will take as much advantage as you will let me." There you go, Keelin Dorsey on the dance floor. And not stumbling drunk yet. Flirting!
Tall and awkward are words to describe the normally cheerful Dania at this moment. Her long brown hair has been braided and bound up. Wild red and pink roses and been woven into her hair. Her hair is held in place by a bone comb that has been carved into the shape of a rose. She is dressed burgundy apron dress and beneath it she is wearing a rose colored fitted gown that has embroidery of red white and pink climbing roses at the hem. She stands there at the entrance taking everything in with those blue eyes her.
"Please, Ser," Katrin says quietly. "Is there any need to dampen a second party tonight? These issues will still remain once light comes." But despite this, she does step back as to not be in the way in case fists decide to start flying again.
Belle follows Hardwicke's glare, then laughs and reaches up to place fingers alongside his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to her. "Oh, stop," she murmurs. "He's not hurting anyone."
"That is kind of you to say, though I do not know your credentials," Alek murmurs, sincere enough for her reassurances as his lips lift in a crooked grin at it. "Though do not think that I did not notice you called me pretty." His fingers even lift to catch hers against him softly, steel eyes dancing with amusement.
Alek is too busy flirting with other women that aren't Hardwicke's fiance to notice his glare.
Rafferdy sighs once more, and tilts his head. "That's… not exactly what happened." He shakes his head, and rubs the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Fuckin' Riordan…Ughh…" He looks back at Jarod. "Remember that one time? When you and my sister lied about her being a boy for years, and then she married you, a Terrick, in secret, without my father's permission? And I was like, 'I still like you both,' and did EVERYTHING I could to convince my father to not only NOT disown her, but actually reinstate her name and give you a shot at serving under our banner, all without EVER punching you for what you two did?" He shakes his head, "How about I cash that in now, in exchange for you walking back over there and showing my sister a wonderful evening. You can beat the hell out of me tomorrow or… whatever. Okay?"
Day snorts softly, mirth bringing out dimples at the corners of her mouth. "As though you haven't heard that from a thousand women — and men, too, I'd imagine."
"He's damaging the world by being in it," Hardwicke grumbles to his wife, somewhat petulantly. Why is the guy he hates here and not somewhere else.
As the music stops, and so does Sofya, Benedict cannot quite risist another glance back towards Septa Day. Who is rather busy touching Ser Alek's face. He blinks and a corner of his mouth curls up in a wry smile before he looks back to Sofya and softens the expression into something more congenial. "Shall we take another turn, mistress?"
It has been a long time coming as Oliva submits to the simplest of dancing steps, and then is allowed to slow to a stop, laughing brightly even as the music comes to an end. She huffs a breath, giving the knight an easy smile. "Will you give me time to consider that offer, Ser?" She inquires even as she nods her head toward where they had left their cups. "You owe me a drink regardless… and then we must see who wins our wager, don't you think?"
That glance is taken and Sofya can do little but note it with an arch of her brow, crossing her arms across her breat. Her own smile quirks a little bit wryly, dark head tipped to the side. "Are you certain you don't wish to be elsewhere, Ser?" She lifts her chin in the tip of a nod towards the direction his gaze lingered last.
"Maybe it means more coming from you," Alek suggests, humor marking his words even as his gaze catches on hers before it brushes appreciatively over her features. Finally, he asks, "Do you dance?"
Day laughs at that. "And maybe there are dragons across the narrow sea," she suggests in return, both being equally likely. She does smile, though — or go on smiling — and glances at the dancers nearby. "I have been known to dance," she says, eyes returning to Alek's. "On occasion."
Keelin gives a bow to Oliva, with a bit of a flourish, but not too extravagant. "Oh indeed. I'm quite sure there's more ale at our table, just with your name on it," he says, as he offers his arm to escort Oliva back to the table. But on the way he catches sight of Dania, and his step falters for a moment, before he chuckles. "Mistress Snow, d'you mind if I invite my sister to join us over here? She's just arriving and fairly new to the area." Hey, she is his /sister/ after all. "I even promise to continue to flirt with you outrageously, if it helps."
Drink is spotted and Dania makes her way over to that area. She weaves her way through the crowd. Reaching the spot gets herself some wine and then goes to find a seat so she can enjoy watching the dancing. Once she is settled her takes a sip of the wine and she appears to be enjoying it. It is then that she catches sight of her brother and she cannot help but laugh. He is in rare form trying to work his magic sober. She shakes her head and looks amused as she takes another sip of her wine.
Benedict doesn't need to look again to surmise where Sofya tilts her head, and certainly he doesn't need to look again to discover if face-touching has led to anything further. "Quite sure, mistress, though if you'd like a rest or a change in partners, I shall gracefully withdraw."
Fingers still capturing hers, Alek drags the tips of Day's fingers to his lips to kiss them lightly, inappropriate perhaps but with a flashed boyish grin. "And what has been known to prompt such an occasion, Day?" he questions wryly.
"You've betrayed what trust your sister placed in you, my lord. You should ashamed." Jarod honestly seems more interested in scolding than punching. Again, for the moment. "I owe you the favor of not laying you bodily flat for it, so I will do you that favor. But you owe her an apology, whether now or later I don't care but you shall give it. And you shall also make an apology to Lord Frey, and stress to him that Rowenna was merely defending her reputation from your rumor-mongering when she struck you. Though you shall not repeat what rumor you were mongering, because that would just make you more of a…damager." He looked for a more eloquent wording for that, but couldn't find it. "I do not want to feel harshly toward you after what you've done for us, Rafferdy, but that was low and thoughtless and hurtful, both to my wife and what honor she and I are trying to build together." To Katrin, he inclines his head somewhat apologetically. "I seek not to ruin your evening, my lady. Or…be a damager of it."
Oliva takes the offered arm with ease, allowing him to guide her without much fuss. She is flushed and smiling, looking quite content with the progress of her promise ot have fun. She catches out of the corner of her eye the gathering of nobles, and she lets the gaze linger only slightly — after all, it is not her business at all. Keelin's question draws her attention once more, and she glances over toward Dania. The young woman is given a relaxed smile, and she nods to the knight. "I don't object," she says simply before she offers him a coy look. "To her company nor your persistent flirting." And then she waves to Dania to gesture that she may join them.
Rowenna stands apart, listening to Jarod lay into her brother rather than watching a display of fisticuffs — and seems the more pleased for it. She quirks a smile at his momentary lack of eloquence, pressing a hand over her heart. Le swoon.
The Vance retainer considers for a moment, settling blue eyes on Benedict is dry consideration before flashing him a wide smile. "I am in desperate need of a drink. Will you join me for that? I know it's less thrilling than another round about the floor," Sofya offers easily, gesturing towards where they left their drinks in the first place. And look! People.
"Raff," Katrin coaxes quietly. Her hand stays against Rafferdy's arm, though her gaze is on Jarod and then flickering over in Rowenna's direction. She seems on edge, but less so when it doesn't look like it's going to end up with blood flying in every which direction.
Keelin, once at the table, pours ale. Three glasses. And he too gestures to Dania to come join them. He's perfectly well content to flirt, it seems, even if his sister gets to watch. "Now then, about those toes? I think surely you must win, since my own are uninjured." A roguish grin, a gulp of ale, and then, "Mistress Snow, my sister Dania. Dania, this is Mistress Olivia Snow." Assuming of course Dania does come over at the two beckoning her.
Day raises her eyebrows slightly at Alek's impropriety — but doesn't seek to reclaim her hand. In answer to his question, she raises the flask she still holds in the other. "Wine. Among other things." She takes another drink before offering it back. "Though I'd hate for you to do yourself further injury, so soon after the melee."
"Wine will certainly help with that as well," Alek agrees to—something. He releases her hand eventually to take his flask, flashing a crooked smile towards the septa as he takes a long drink of it himself. "It looks a lot worse than it is."
People! And alcohol! Benedict nods, offering Sofya another smile. "Of course, mistress," he agrees. "I should not like to threaten your delicate constitution. Not when you're obliged to regularly ride two horses at once."
"Were you ashamed for betraying my trust when you two were lying about her being a boy?" Rafferdy counters, calmly. He's not trying to make this worse, nor is he trying to deflect, rather, he is trying to point out the irony of the pot calling the kettle here. "Look, I'll apologize to her. HAPPILY. I WANT to apologize to her. But I won't to Lord Frey. Whether I deserved being punched or not has little to do with her lack of restraint. And also, he's scary." He smirks a little, and then sighs. "Look, Jarod. I told ONE person, and it was told like a rumor, not necessarily true. Riordan has, apparently, told EVERYONE by way of trying to get me in trouble over it. He's playing us against one another."
People! And Alcohol! (It deserves that captial letter). So it is with laughter that Sofya and Benedict arrive at the table where Mistress Snow and the Dorseys sit. "My constituition is /quite/ fine, Ser. My riding aside," she chides as they aproach, quicking reclaiming her glass as she flashes a bright smile at the party settled there. "Mistress Snow, Ser Dorsey, you seemed to have gained another after the dance. Hello. I'm Sofya Dale and this is Ser Benedict Lawson."
Belle leans up to kiss Hardwicke — thoroughly — as the set ends. If only to distract him from wishing Ser Alek dead for being alive. "We don't need to stay," she murmurs to him.
"It is a pleasure to meet you Mistress Snow, how are you enjoying the evening? I also hope you are enjoying his company." Dania says when she finally approaches. Her brother is getting a look from her and her eyebrow is raised. "Hrm…well this can be awkward. Brother, perhaps you should take Mistress Snow out for another dance when the time is right." She downs the rest of the wine and she goes to get more. She comes back to where they are and she stands there awkward for a few moments, so she takes another drink of her wine.
Day smiles, equally wry, for Alek's disclaimer. "If I had a copper for every wounded man who told me that," she replies — not precisely doubting him. But. "We could always take a stroll, rather than dancing. It's a lovely night."
Oliva accepts her cup, and she lets it soothe her thrist — even if such a hearty gulp might cause her head to spin sooner than later. She relaxes into a seat, narrowing a look upon the sworn Mallister knight even as she flashes her feet from beneath her skirts. "I would agree to that, Ser Keelin Dorsey… what was it that I won again?" The question is less musing and more teasing, and her dark eyes do not so much twinkle as shine. She looks up toward Dania as she joins them, and she smiles easily to the woman. "Merry met, Mistress Dania. Your brother has been a pleasure, for sure… though we now must discuss his surrender." And she smiles broader still to Keelin.
"Yes I was ashamed, and we manned up and apologized to you and your family and my lord father and your lord father and everyone in the land for it. We are living with enough disgraces without you adding to them, though I suppose now we'll live with this one, too. And it's going to spread, whether you told one person or a dozen. That was plainly your intent. I'd have rather heard it from Riordan than to get told it by some asshole in a tavern that my wife had…" Jarod bites his tongue. "Fine. Just keep being a damager, then, and shirk a true attempt to make amends with the Freys. You can apologize to her later, I'm done with your arse tonight. We remain grateful for whatever you did for us with your lord father, Rafferdy, but this has been a lesson in how far to trust you." All that said, he offers Katrin a little bow, and turns away back toward Rowenna.
"Many men tell you that it looks worse than it is?" Alek teases playfully, his lips crooked even as he offers out his arm to Day's suggestion. "Where would you like to walk to, mistress?"
Well. To such a thorough kiss, Hardwicke has little in the way of argument. He rumbles a quiet, wordless response, and then says, "I suppose we don't." He slips a hand about her waist once more and begins to lead her from the party — likely back towards the Terrick tents.
"Is a destination required?" Day asks, arching an eyebrow, her expression playful. "I usually just pick a direction and follow my feet."
Rafferdy furrows his brow, "If it was my intent, Jarod, EVERYONE would know." He mutters, "…though Riordan's made sure of that, apparently…" He shakes his head, and just sighs, watching his brother-in-law walk away. His shoulders slump just slightly in defeat.
Benedict offers a nod as he and Sofya rejoin the little group by the drinks. He collects his pint and what drink remains with in. "Ser, Mistresses. Good evening to all of you."
Keelin's grin broadens at Oliva's comment. "You won what you choose," he says, with that smile on his face. Though as Sofya and Benedict make their way back, he chuckles slightly. "My sister, Dania. Dani, this is Ser Benedict Lawson and Mistress Sofya Dale. We'd a couple other companions at our table as well, but they might have deserted us for their own company." Which is no surprise on a day like today. He turns back to Oliva, winking at her. "But if it's my surrender we're discussing, then do be gentle, Mistress."
"Rafferdy," Katrin says quietly, taking Rafferdy's arm and attempting to at least pull them away from other dancers. "Come on," she murmurs. "You just need to walk away from this."
Rafferdy slowly nods, his eyes lingering on Jarod as he returns to his sister. As she gently pulls, he turns, and begins to silently move with her wherever she leads.
Oliva reclines at ease in her seat, showing that even smallfolk women — bastard or no — can relax without looking as if their spine and shoulders may fuse together. She takes another drink of her ale, her brows frinkled in faux consideration. Keelin is given a careful look over from his head down, and she shakes her head a bit. "I'm conflicted, Ser Keelin… part of me wants to ask for your horse." And she takes another drink of the ale, grinning around the cup as she does. Then she tilts her head. "Though the other part of me is being warmed by ale, so I'm not sure if I should trust it."
"Anywhere you lead, I will follow," Alek murmurs lowly where he leans towards Day's ear, alcohol already warming his syallables as he places his hand over hers again. He nods towards a path, and moves to take it. If Day agrees.
"It is a pleasure to meet you as well Ser Lawson and you Mistress Dale. If you will both excuse me I seem drained my cup and I should get more wine before they reach the terms of their surrender." Dania offers them all bright sunny and cheerful smile. She refills her wine, her cheeks are starting to get some color to them.
Day's eyes flit to to door of the Great Hall, watching a tall and Nayland-y figure arrive late to the party. "Fuck," she sighs, most un-Septa-ly. She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in apology. "Another time," she tells the knight inebriate, kissing his cheek close to his ear before moving off to make sure no one has fun on her watch.
"Mistress Dorsey," Sofya greets Dania with a slip of a smile, only to see the woman excuse herself. She nods her agreement and swallows another daught of her wine as she watches the play between Keelin and Oliva with amusement. "Goodness, was there a duel and I missed it?"
Keelin's smile doesn't dip, even as Oliva suggests his horse. Especially as she continues along the other path. "We could certainly investigate that, make sure to try with and without the ale?" he offers with oh so obvious innocence. "If you run out of wine, Dani, there's ale aplenty. And do everyone help yourself." There are several pitchers on the table, available to the group. "If I have to drink it all, Mistress Oliva will find me scarcely able to assist in warming her." He chuckles softly at Sofya's comment, shaking his head. "Only a friendly wager, which I appear to have lost."
Katrin leads Rafferdy away from the town, back toward the open grounds of the Tourney fields, concern written across her features. "Are you alright?" she asks quietly.
"Another time, maybe," Alek agrees to the woman, releasing her with a curve of a brow. He smiles, a small, crooked thing, before he lifts his flask to his lips and scans the celebrations again. Maybe there is another target, somewhere.
"Careful, ser," Benedict advises to Keelin with a chuckle, "some simple wagers can be nearly as deadly, and it seems your winner has a hint of ruthlessness about her, plotting to claim your mount as her winnings."
Rowenna takes Jarod's hands as he returns to her, leaning up to kiss him softly. That's all — though she has a look of adoration in her eyes that's usually reserved for men who've done something rather splendid.
Jarod clasps Rowenna's hands in his and kisses her back, more tenderly this time. No dipping or excessive use of tongue. He still holds her hands when he breaks from that. "You could've kicked his arse somewhere not a fancy noble dance, you know. Next time find an alley or something, aye?" The location seems to be most of his problem with her punching of Rafferdy.
Coming from where a group of smallfolk are gathered would be the rather unimpressive figure of Marsden Streem. Instead of being in either gloomier knight fare or dressed in brown, the good Half septon has squared himself away in a rather drab outfit, of an stained green over tunic and a brown cowl. A cup in his hand, there's a thump of his chest as he exclaims "FIVE." laughter follows and the man peels away from those drinking companions, obviously looking to find another.
"With and without then, Ser Keelin," Oliva says with a small quirk of her lips. At the invitation for more ale, she drains her own cup and fills it rightly. Then she looks over toward Benedict, and she laughs gently. "Oh, now, ser… I wouldn't put Ser Keelin into a deadly deal. I'm a Northern, frank and honest. There is not a sly bone in my body."
Rowenna nods solemnly to Jarod. "I promise," she says softly. "I'll get it right next time." Like most things with the Rivers-Naylands, it takes them a few tries. But they do get it. Eventually.
"Any wager that'll have her calling for your horse over your warmth is a dire one," Sofya quips, taking a drag of her ale with a grin. One which is almost sputtered at Oliva's rebuff, blinking as she hastily swallows her wine.
Dania comes back with more wine and she goes to take at seat. She is listen to the playful banter. But she does laugh. "I have to agree with Mistress Dale. I have to say that I am amused."
"You should tell Lucienne and Anais that Lord Rafferdy besmirched your sterling reputation," Jarod says, a little wryly. What his sister and goodsister thought of that also seems more a pressing concern than the Freys. "Then they'll understand. C'mon. Let's get a drink." He goes to sniff out some ale, with that. On the way he has to admit, "At least this party's more fun than what's likely going on in there."
Sterling reputation. Hardy har. Rowenna swats Jarod's midsection, smirking. "Shut up. Your face is a sterling reputation." She leans her head against his shoulder as they go to get a drink.
"Of course not, mistress," Benedict agrees, blinking wide, innocent eyes at Oliva. "Only a purely honest person would confess their honest honesty." He offers a quick smile before he asks, "What was this wager, anyhow?"
Keelin chuckles and nods, raising his mug to Sofya. "Agreed," he says. "Besides, Tiny'd eat her out of house and home. I'm sure she doesn't really need that sort of cost." He can't help but laugh. "Oh, the wager was which of us would have more bruised toes after dancing," he admits with a glance over at Oliva.
Finally, Oliva realizes that the noble knight that now (might) be headed their way is Jarod Rivers. She casts the man a dubious glance, though now that he's gone and wed, she doesn't have to worry about /two/ knights being outrageous flirts. That realized, she gives him a smile and a nod. Sofya's reaction causes her to look around at the woman, and she offers a pretty smirk. Then she looks over toward Keelin, and she shakes her head. "I have my own old warrior to deal with, you are right that I don't need your sugar-addict horse sniffing about my pockets as well." She smiles good naturedly before she then casts a glance down at his feet, and then back up at the others. "I proved to have smaller hooves than Ser Keelin, that is all."
How appropriate is it that two of the Tordane household would find each other within the celebrations? Especially given the lack of the household at the present that serves the Lady Danae. Alek hails Marsden with his flask, but he does not offer it over. He isn't a pretty septa, after all. His first question, of course, is, "Who is with her?"
"Here, here," Sofya crows as Benedict suggest that that basis of the wager ought to be voiced, leaning in with an eager smile. One that is readily shared with Dania, brushing her hand over her lips. Despite her sputter, she fails to blush and after a moment offers a daring grin in return. Here, here. Indeed. "The only way to get better at it is to mangle a few toes of your own."
"One of the new fellows. The one that snores and smells of garlic." he notes "As well as the others brought with us from Stonebridge. She said I could have tonight off, as I have been by her side most of the tournament." Marsden offers with a faint grin. "I didn't have time to be knocked off my pony..Speaking of which." eyes narrow in on Alek's face. "How're you doing Ser?"
Jarod does briefly detour, while Rowenna is getting them both some fine ales, to the area where Oliva and company are gathered. Oliva seeming to be the face that catches his eye particularly. Though (perhaps unusually) he doesn't leer. He just grins and offers her a flourishly half-bow. Not quite so deep as he bothers with among noblewomen, but he still performs some. "Mistress Snow! I didn't know you'd come to the Twins."
"But how did you know who has more bruises?" Benedict asks, glancing from Keelin to Oliva and then to Sofya as she chortles. "Were socks and shoes removed and bruises counted, or did you rely on the mistress's sterling honesty?" He offers a nod hellow as Ser Rivers joins their little group.
"It is his ears that are sensitive." Dania offers with a charming sweet smile. "Well Keely's ears that is." Yes the wine has hit her empty stomach. Her eyes are bright as the stars and reflect that smile of hers. Her cheeks are still flushed. The same smile is offered to the others that have just joined them.
"Fine. It looks worse than it is, as you well know," Alek replies dismissively, because surely Marsden has set his nose and looked at it properly. He nods some satisfaction to the answer the Septon gives, for all that his gaze flicks for a moment in the direction of their banner. And then he is drinking again, perhaps eyeing Sofya a bit. What, she's cute.
With the crowd growing again, Keelin moves his chair coincidentally closer to Oliva's seat. He then flashes a grin. "I ceded victory, as I have no bruises upon my own feet," he says, with a shrug. Besides, far more fun to see what Oliva will pick for her prize. "And thus, Mistress Oliva gets to choose her winnings." He turns his gaze back on Oliva warmly, before turning to raise his mug in Jarod's direction. "Ser. We've ale aplenty, if you'd like some." And that brunette is keeping the ale coming, even with Keelin flirting away with Oliva. Must have done something right. He does give Dania a sharp look. "My ears are sensitive? What's this now?"
The arrival of Ser Jarod leads to an inquisitive look from Sofya, knowing only of the man by reputation from her time at the Roost. She smiles slightly in greeting, incling her head as he takes his detour. Benedict's galnce is met with a wry turn of her mouth, then she tactfully takes another drink of her ale. Dancing is thirsty work. "Ah, the danger of sisters. So what will you choose of him, Mistress Oliva?"
A grin there, and Marsden is nodding. "Well least you ain't thrown up blood yet." A nod, there. "And the nose set beautifully." Marsden says with a grin, before he's turning to survey the tracts of land or ladies. It could be anything. A rub of his jaw before he's grinning back towards Alek. "Well now there's a fine star t' be gazing upon to be sure." A raise of a brow back. "I wish I was able to have been in the Melee, boyo. I woulda had your back there. Damned double teamed as you were." a snort. "You did land one on that Charlton though."
Oliva looks over her cup as she takes another drink of the ale, this time a moderate gulp. Her gaze looks up to Jarod Rivers, and she offers the fellow bastard a companionable smile. "Well, I couldn't much leave the tourney horses under the care of Wort, could I?" She speaks, of course, of her own apprentice — should she die like her own mentor, he would take her place. Gods Forbid. "Besides… it has done me good to get away from the Roost." Then she glances over at the other knight, the one who has magiced his way closer to the Mistress of Horses. She smiles over at him with a slight wrinkling of her nose. "I asked if you would give me time to think! I must make my choice carefully… you've already said I could steal a kiss if I wanted… so what can I ask for that you haven't already offered?" She flashes a wink to Sofya.
His laugh only holds a touch of bitterness for the multiple opponents that he faced within the melee, and Alek only replies, "I could have used you, septon." He touches his nose, shakign his head slowly. He shrugs to the comment on Sofya, instead focusing on his wine. Apparently he's not going to go actively try to steal maidens from other knights.
"I am content to wait, though I could think of many things you could request," Keelin says with a wink at Oliva. "But you may have all the time to think on it that you wish." Magnanimous, and also, perfectly willing to perhaps assist her in thinking. He reaches for the nearest pitcher, so he can refill Oliva's mug, as well as his own. "More ale?" he asks, offering refills around the table.
"Knight me next time, and I'll be able to." Marsden dryly replies, as eyes remain focused over on Sofya and then a brow hitching up. "Do you need an outrider right now Ser?" the septon asks, before he's eyeing the contents of his wooden cup. Dry. So the thing is tossed over his shoulder. "I could introduce you…" A nod in that direction.
"No, I have tried once for the evening, and am done for the night now," Alek answers simply to that offer, careless where he lifts a shoulder. Benedict can keep Sofya, apparently. He takes another sip of his flask. "Next time," he agrees.
"Of course your ears are sensitive my loving and adorable brother. I boxed them enough when I was younger." Dania laughs and moves out of the way. That bright starry gaze in her eyes has turned impish. She turns her attention on to the two men. "Coughing up blood would be bad, is an understatement. Punctured lungs come to mind, or someone choking on their own blood." This is said to Alek and Marsden.
"Let's see…" Sofya drawls at Oliva's question, grinning in return as she taps her chin with a finger. "You haven't quite dueled so it seems unsporting to challenge him for his armor, his weapon, and the horse is apparently a fiend for sugar.. .What is left of him to ask?" The soft smile she directs at Keelin clearly indicates her teasing, even as she conspires with the other women. "Seems to me you shoud find a task for him, something appropriate to your winning the bet."
"Ser Keelin! I could do with a cup among good folk." Jarod sits readily when invited. He will have his other ale with Rowenna later. There's ale aplenty. "How do you find the tourney? I didn't partake myself what with the…uhh." Disgracing? Stripping of horse and armor? Perhaps those things. He leaves it at 'uh.' Though it does seem to remind him, as he asks Oliva, "I hope Symeon's been behaving himself." His beloved charger. "Must be relaxing to get away for a bit. I saw Ser Blayne unseat the Frey young lord, which'll at least bring some good coin back to the Roost." To Sofya he flashes a smile, though it's as much curious as anything else. "I don't think we've met, however, Mistress, or I'd like to think I'd recall."
"You see what did I tell you?" Benedict says as Oliva begs time to think up a prize, "Dangerous." He steps back, setting his now-empty mug down. "But I am afraid, speaking of horses, I'd best look in on my own as well as make sure my squire's completed his duties, in spite of the tourney's excitement. Good to meet you Ser Dorsey, Mistress Dorsey, Mistress Snow. Ser Rivers, fine to see you again." He turns to offer his final smile to Sofya. "And, Mistress Dale." He reaches for her free hand, to lift it and see if he might kiss the back of her hand. "It is ever a pleasure."
Keelin chuckles and nods to Benedict. "Good to see you, Ser. And I fear you are right. I've surrendered to a very dangerous woman indeed." He aims that teasing flirt Oliva's way, before he waves a hand at Jarod. "Have a seat. and here - " Pitcher of ale, meet mug. And then it's passed over to the half-eagle. He then looks at his sister, mock scowling. "Give over, Dani. You'll not ruin my mood today. At least, not unless Mistress Snow turns me down and breaks my heart, along with her dangerous ways."
"We haven't good Ser Jarod, I am a retainer to your Lordly siblings cousin the Lord Inigo Vance. Sofya Dalae," Sofya offers Jaord with a slip of a smile, ducking her head in a short greeting. Sighing slightly, while Benedict makes his farewells, she settles her own mug of ale down. That hand is lifted for a kiss without protest. "Good eve, Ser Benedict."
"I have no desire to break a knight's heart. I've heard those sad songs before. So, out with the suggestions then, Ser Keelin," Oliva says, and indeed she gives him her best dangerous smile. Maybe Benedict's words do carry some merit. Even as she waits to hear the knight's words, she glances over to the Rivers knight. "Have you met a horse that I have not been able to will into behaving, Ser Jarod? It is in my blood—" At least part of it, she's never spoken of where the other part came from, the Snow part. "Though I can tell by his demeanor that he misses you as you certainly must him." As Ser Benedict makes his departure, she nods her head to the man and offers him an ease smile. "Another day, Ser Benedict."
Having made his farewells, Ser Benedict takes his leave of the night's festivities to follow up on his chores (and, perhaps, give his bruised self a little rest).
"Mm the septa?" he asks raising a brow. "You'd have far better luck trying to fuck a horse, Ser." Marsden adds. Not saying that Day is a horse, but rather there is celibacy…The analogy is probably lost and horrible. A pause as Ser benedict seem to be bowing out and he nods towards Alek. "There's your shot Ser. She's alone." A pause before he's looking over towards Dania a brief blink before he simply nods. "That's usually correct."
Jarod offers Benedict a quick, "Good eve, Ser Benedict." It works as both a hello and farewell, fortunately. A nod to Sofya. "Ah, Ser Inigo. I don't know him much, but I was cheered to here more knights of Lord Jerold's kin had come to the Roost. It's in need of men at present." He sounds just a little guilty. And looks it more, when Oliva mentions his horse missing him. "I miss my old courser as well, Mistress Snow. A sturdier beast there never was. Had since since I swore to Four Eagles, after I came home from the Trident, and he carried me through years of patrols and Alderbrook and Seagard and the Iron Isles and all of it." He drinks of his ale, perhaps trying to dismiss the touch of regret.
"Septa?" Alek questions, some surprise and sharpness in the word. He might choke a bit on his wine, as well. It is apparently his first time hearing Day's title. "Fuck me with a Summer Islander's cock." This time, he really does consider Sofya more seriously at the new news of Day. He tips a nod towards Marsden before moving for the woman.
"It has been a pleasure Ser Benedict." Dania says to him a slight bow of her head. "May you have a lovely evening." She raises an eyebrow at the two men. "I do apologize for interrupting your conversation. It is more than just usually correct." The tall woman takes a sip of her drink. She looks between the two men. There is a sense now that she is analyzing them. She then shrugs her shoulders and goes to take a seat back at the table with her brother.
"You couldn't tell?" Marsden asks with a raised brow, before he is rubbing his jaw. "Not that it means anything. I fucked many a woman when I wore the robes." Marsden notes before he is nodding all the same. "Hmm." a pause as Alek starts for the gathering of lowly types and of course, Sofya. "I hear they're big.." And that is all he can say before he is moving on to follow behind. After all, Alek may need a wingman.
Keelin glances over to watch Dania but only briefly. She's a big girl, he doesn't need to cause a ruckus unless she calls for help. Right. Check. So, back to Oliva, with a wide smile, his hands coming up palms raised. "No, now, as I said, you've all the time to think that you need. Not a worry. I'll not hold it against you if you take months. Well, unless you ask me to." Then he takes another drink of his ale, before he turns to Jarod. "Help me out now. She's already stolen a kiss, and now she's won a bet, and whatever I say I'm in the doghouse, and all for being a gentleman." Sofya is no help - since she's on Oliva's side.
"They are, yes. I know House Vance is all to happily to help their kin," Sofya answers smoothly, unaware that two retainers of House Tordane are currently making a bee-line for her. She smiles brightly and takes a deep drink of her ale, slipping her fingers over to a picture to refill her mug with a resonant laugh. "He notes the stealing of a kiss as if it means he might be in the doghouse," she asides in a whisper to Oliva.
Oliva casts Jarod a more sober look, though it definitely takes her some effort to will away the warmth and swooning going through her head. "I'm certain that if a wandering knight of the Rivers came to the Roost for a spell, he would find himself able to take the courser out for a ride. The Mistress of Horses would say it would do both souls a bit of good." Jarod is given a meaningful look over her cup as she takes another drink from the ale that already loosens her blood and joints. Then she glances over toward Keelin with another full smile. "I doubt you will get much sympathy from Ser Jarod. He tried for years to get a kiss, and all you had to do was parade me about the dance floor." She casts a grin toward Sofya now, and she leans over to whisper to the woman in return, "I stole the kiss, shouldn't I be the one in trouble?"
Giving up on the conversation Dania goes and drinks more wine. She looks amused as she sits there sipping her drink. She seems to be enjoying herself. She is back to people watching at the moment.
"I think the night is young, Ser, and she is a fair common girl, not one of those troublesome, stuffy noble creatures," Jarod replies to Keelin with a wink. "I did indeed. I was always curious about Northern girls, but she never satisfied my…questions." He's not helpful when it comes to gentlemanly behavior. Speaking of, he drinks quick. "I should go find my wife, come to it. Had a bit of foolishness when we tried the higher-born party. Ever a mistake. Hope I can steal a few more kisses to make up for wasted time."
"Mistress," Alek drawls dryly into Sofya's conversation, carelessly. He offers a bright, crooked grin to both Oliva and the Vance servant, sketching an easy salute towards them. "My fellow and I were looking for a witty conversation, and thought it likely to be found here, perhaps."
Alek gestures to his wingmate, Marsden.
Keelin laughs heartily at the tales being spun this evening. "That's good, since I'm not a noble neither." And Keelin rather would avoid the politics that get one by the short hairs when it comes to those noble girls. "Good to see you, Ser Jarod, and far be it that we keep a man from his wife," he says, waving a hand. "Bring her some ale along with another cup of your own." He's awfully free with the Frey ale, it seems. And then he glances at Dani, though she seems okay if a little bit quiet, and he did promise to flirt outrageously with Oliva. Though at the incoming Alek and Marsden, Keelin nods his head briefly. Before he turns back to Oliva, mischief on his face as he leans in to see if he can return the favour and steal a kiss in return for the one she stole earlier.
"You'd think, silly men," Sofya attempts to whisper in return, ale and mirth leading a soft giggle to escape. "Good eve, Ser Jarod." At the address, the Vance servant rights herself from her conspicuous lean towards Oliva and arches her brows in amusement. "Sers," she returns incorrectly for Marsden, although Alek is the only one she's seen in action. "I…think you might be able to find something of the kind here, although no doubt our wits may be addled by dance. Ser Alek Coope, is it not? And…" Sorry Marsden.
Oliva smiles up to Jarod companionably. "I will have to meet this lady wife of yours, Ser Jarod… but for now… off with you." And she shoos him away with her fingers, a smile still on her lips. When Alek comes to join the party, she casts Sofya a slightly knowing glance before she looks back up at the knight. "You are certainly to receive drunken conversation — the quality of wit is bound to vary based on how much ale Ser Keelin keeps pouring." She looks over to Marsden, nodding her head with her smile still intact. She almost misses the advances from the Dorsey knight, but she turns in time to see him leaning in for that theft. The kiss is equally permitted and returned, and she even leans into it a bit.
"Marsden Streem." he adds, though there is no Ser to be given with his name, as he does offer his hand over towards Sofya. "A pleasure..And I see you know my good friend, Ser Coope. A fine gentleman he is." Marsden can coat it on. That's why he was valuable on the Isles. That and he was a killing machine. A glance and he catches sight of Oliva macking down on a Mallister. "Hmm." And with that he is looking to Jarod. A grin there offered to the young Rivers. "Half Eagle." he replies with a warm enough smile. "Good to see you Ser."
"Mistresses. Knight of the Keys," Jarod offers with a grin to Keelin and his lovely company. He winks over his shoulder at the Mallister sworn. All 'Nice job, bro.' And then he's off. Or makes to be so. He pauses at Marsden's greeting, offering an inclination of his head to the man. "Half-Septon. Good to see you away from the Iron Isles. What brings you to the tourney at the Twins? I wasn't sure what you'd be doing with yourself given…well." The whole Gedeon being ganked thing.
"Dance and wine are good things to be influenced by in a celebration," Alek agrees easily to both women, his smile warm and playful even where bruises marr his face and his nose is still swollen and discolored. He glances briefly at Jarod, but he only does that. Then he is drawing closer to Sofya to offer his own flask, maybe to prove how straight he is. "I do do both, myself."
Sofya eyes the flask and then Alek in turn, arching that brow just a little higher as she examines the pair. "Ah," she answers, tossing her dark head of hair as she accepts the flask to take a pull from it. "But do you do either well?" She wonders with a cheeky crook of a grin, handing it back so that she can chase it with a sip of beer. Oliva and Keelin's display of affection is met with a low, approving whiistle. Well played.
"My Lady is here, Ser." Marsden offers, easily manuevering himself as a means to buffer and block Alek and Sofya from the rest of the talking and making out. "I am glad to be away though, from the Isles, Ser. I have always found the Riverlands to be more of my style anyway." A grin and one hand comes out, for Jarod's shoulder. "A drink with me? Unless you'd rather not be seen.." With you know someone your bosses most likely loathe.
"And now we're even when it comes to stolen kisses," Keelin says to Oliva, with a smile. Jarod gets a grin and a lazy salute of a mug. Which Keelin then proceeds to drain. He turns to watch Alek and Marsden as they prowl in on Sofya. Who gets a cheeky grin in return for her low whistle. Then he turns that grin back to Oliva, to see her reaction. As for the making out - it's all Jarod's fault anyway.
"Your Lady?" Jarod frowns some, but only slight. "Do you serve Lady Danae Tordane now?" He makes a low "Huh" sound. Hesitating a beat. But, after a moment's thought, nods. "I could do a drink, Half-Septon. I should find my wife soon, but one ale goes down quick."
Alek leans forward to murmur in a warm breath against Sofya's ear, but unfortunately all his words are low and in Braavosi, nothing that the woman can understand for all that it is light and holds a hint of humor. He accepts his flask back to take a drink.
'A Wife, Half Eagle? Had you made the eight so quick that you decided to settle down?" A laugh leaves Marsden's throat all warm and raspy. As he continues wrangle Jarod in the direction of more drinks. "I do serve the widow Tordane." Marsden offers. "I felt it needed to be done. I owed him that..His family is my family.." and he lets it fall there. "But, enough of that.. tell me of your new family, Ser."
The whisper of Alek's warm breath against her ear is nothing compared to the tickle of Braavosi words within it. Sofya steps back once he is finished and quirks her mouth in a pretty grin as she admits, "I have no idea what you just said, Ser. I do like the way you can say it though. Where do your words call home?" Her question is followed by a long drink of ale.
Jarod moves off where he can drink with Marsden, chuckling. "I doubt I'll make the eight, but I suppose I'm happier for it. Had you not heard?" Another laugh, a rueful one this time. "I thought everyone in the Riverlands had. I married my former squire." He adds, quickly and emphatically, "Who is a woman! I have seen her tits! She completely has them and was just lying about not having them!" Ahem. "Rowenna Nayland. She posed as her brother Rowan all those years and we kind of…" Shrug. "…parts of it are a mess at the moment, but I do love her, and she loves me in kind."
"Oh, no… we are far from even, Ser Keelin," Oliva says with a sly grin now on her lips after the shared kiss. She leans in closer to him again, but this time she does not go for a kiss. Instead, she whispers something — a steam of somethings — in his ear. When she pulls back, she is grinning even more broadly. "If you will excuse us," she announces simply before she pulls the knight to his feet. Apparently, Oliva has cashed in her winnings!
"The Free Cities, mistress. Have you ever been?" Alek's words linger near her ear, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips even as he finally moves to draw back from Sofya instead of inappropriately infringing on her personal space. Given privacy by Marsden, he presses his advantage, adding, "I could tell you stories, if you wished to hear them." In private, his words suggest.
"Oh I know she has tits, Ser. I have seen them myself." Marsden adds as he comes to stop before where the keg of ale is tapped. And he is quick to pour himself a drink. A glance over towards Jarod for his cup. And yes, the half septon is total nonchalant by all of that. "On the Isles. I healed her after the dust up on Pyke." he notes before glancing back to Jarod. "I did not know she was a Nayland though." and there he chews on his cheek. "How's that fare you?"
Jarod nods to Marsden. "Aye, she told me she was going to you. I figured, you were Ser Gedeon's man then, and better you than the Nayland girl, however fine with healing Mistress Senna is." Jarod drinks of his ale. "You didn't know? She was taken for being Rowan Nayland himself, by her own family. How did you figure she managed the masquerade? And I fear I don't know what you mean, Half-Septon. Do you speak of the enmity between her lord father and mine?".
"I can't say that I've had the pleasure, Ser Coope. No," Sofya offers in kind, sweet alto light with a hint of mirth. That hint is echoed in her gaze as she takes another drink of her ale, considering the Tordane man. "I've seen much of Westeros, but never beyond." That hint brightens to something deeper as he offers stories, curiousity peaked even as it comes with his warning of privacy. "I am sure you have a great many, stories."
"She is fine, indeed. And not just with her hands, Ser. but her ass would be something any man of learning could study, if they needed help figurin' how an ass should look." Marsden seems to add with a bit of reminiscent feel there. "Oh I thought she was Ser Rowan, but I missed the Nayland bit.. I guess because she rightly cheered on dead Jason Mallister, I took her to be a Terrick or a Groves fellow." a sniff there before he's raising his glass in salute. "To your fine wife. Ser..or rather…Dame Rowenna." A grin there and down it goes. "That would be it." he adds with a faint grin. "Anyone from the cape knows you lot hate each other."
"Very many, my lady of the stars. They would take quite a while to tell you," Alek murmurs suggestively, his words drawling in his mouth as he smiles easily at the woman under her regard. His brow might curve upwards, but he waits.
Dania has disconnected.
Jarod gets a chuckle from Marsden's comment about Senna. "Never had her myself, though I think my brother Lord Jacsen did. Don't think he found out any Nayland secrets by it, but he seemed to enjoy the turn well enough." As for Rowan/Rowenna, he shakes his head. "She, when her lord father thought her her brother, was sent to the Terricks as a ward as well as squire. As for us and the Naylands, don't know that it's that simple. Lord Jerold and Lord Rickart hate each other. I get on all right with some of her kin, and she came to love the Terricks during her years at the Roost. Besides, times change. That needs to change as well, to my mind."
Sofya sighs softly, smile tiltng crookedly on her lips as she gazes up at Alek for a long, breathy moment. "And I am certain that you would be quite the man to tell them, allowing me to share my own in the process," she replies gently. Pausing briefly, she finishes off her ale in a long draught and sets the mug aside. "Alas, I am no lady. I have work that must be seen to tonight. Whatever stars you see, I wish you luck finding them cast in other eyes." That last bit is playfully said, crooked smile growing. She dips her head in a brief nod of farewell, lifting a hand to bid Jarod and Marsden the same. Then she slips off past Alek and into the crowd.
Alek is now officially giving up, getting drunk, and going back to the Tordane camp. No more wingmatees, Marsden.