Page 138: Drunk and Disorderly
Drunk and Disorderly
Summary: Rafferdy is nice and brings Hardwicke ale. Kathryna is mean and brings Hardwicke barfights.
Date: 30 November 2011
Related Logs: A Kathryna/Dafydd log, I believe, but unposted as of yet.
Hardwicke Rafferdy Kathryna Damara 
A Seedy Bar in Terrick's Roost
A bar of particular seediness. Not someplace the nobles are caught.
30 November 288

Though this particular establishment lacks the more upscale polish of Rockcliff Inn, it's in the seedier establishments that Hardwicke tends to unwind. He's a quiet presence in the tavern this evening, as is his habit, but his coin is good and he's not a bother. He sits at a table, nursing a pint of ale and considering a few of the other men engaged in tavern games with an idle, disinterested gaze. One hand lifts from the rough wood of the tabletop to stroke almost unconsciously along his close-shorn beard.

When the doors open again this time, it's to let in a rather dusty looking woman clad in trousers and a leather doublet. She has a man with her, middle aged and long suffering, and a bow strung over her back. Held in her hand is a mess of conies, all strung up and proper. The only thing that might set this woman apart (other than her masculine attire) is the crest stitched on her blue and black doublet. It's the sigil of a noble house.

"Hywl," the woman can be heard saying as she enters, "I'm thirsty, and this place is closer than the keep. Let's not make a fuss?"

Rafferdy wanders inside, dressed like a dirty commoner, in brown leather pants and brown leather doublet. The doublet is left unbuttoned to show his chest and abs, and he's carrying a worn veille case. He looks around the room, and then makes his way to the bar to order an ale.

The woman earns Hardwicke's attention, first by the masculine cut of her clothing, then the particular crest on her doublet. He looks back up at her face, studying her a moment with a sense of quiet observation to the steadiness of his gaze. The glance he offers Rafferdy is more perfunctory, the Nayland being a less out-of-place sight in this particular establishment. He himself bears the markings of House Terrick on his clothing, plain but of appropriate quality for his station.

Rafferdy watches as Alyse looks around, then turns and leaves. It brings his gaze upon Hardwicke for a moment. He watches the man, then turns back to his drink, taking a long sip, before standing, and moving towards Hardwicke. "You a knight?" he asks.

Hardwicke lifts his gaze slowly, brows arched as he marks Rafferdy's appearance and manner with a long, unintimidated look. "Yes," he answers briefly.

Rafferdy smiles widely, "I always wanted to be a knight." He just sits himself down at Hardwicke's table. "Everyone could call me Ser. I'd have a horse. Big sword." His eyes widen a little at that. It's almost comical, but very friendly. "Some squire brat what follows me around fetchin' my ale." He smiles.

"Maybe when you grow up," Hardwicke suggests in a dry tone, eyeing him with just the slightest hint of wariness, as if friendliness is somehow a suspicious thing. Or as if he's kind of a grump. Either way, he lifts his glass for a gulp of ale. "Too bad I left mine at home, then," he says blandly.

Rafferdy laughs, "When I grow up!?" He smiles widely, "Ha!" He extends his hand, "I'm Raff Veille. It's an honor to meet you, Ser!" He then leans a bit closer, "If you want, I'll fetch you another ale?"

Hardwicke eyes the hand for a minute, then reluctantly extends his own to clasp it. "Hardwicke Blayne," he says, the edges of his consonants roughened with his common-born background. He snorts at the offer. "Only if you don't expect me to take you on."

Rafferdy waves off the comment, "I'm a bit old to squire, Ser." He smiles, and then goes to the bar, getting a pitcher of ale and bringing it back to the table. As he refills both their glasses, he smiles again, "Ser Hardwicke," he says, and then nods, as if he approves. "A Terrick knight, I imagine?"

"As you see." Hardwicke turns his refilled glass slowly on the table as he watches the younger man.

Rafferdy tilts his head a bit, "You don't like me." He smirks a little, "I can leave you be, Ser. I don't mean you any disrespect."

"I don't know you," Hardwicke corrects, though he accompanies it with a shrugging shift of his shoulders. "You brought ale," seems to be a point in Rafferdy's favor, at least.

Rafferdy nods, "Fair enough." He smiles once more, "I met a girl when all you folks… Well, the Terricks and those bastards the Naylands, when they were all in Riverrun arguin' over what to do with Stonebridge. Anyway," he shrugs, "I met this girl that was traveling with the Terricks. She was…" He sighs. "Well, she was fantastic."

One eyebrow lifting, Hardwicke's voice is a bit flat when he says, "Was she." He waits with a patiently expectant air.

Rafferdy smiles widely, "She was." He shrugs then, "Anyway, I normally go where the nobles are. Play my music in the inns for a little money and some good times. But this girl?" He laughs, "I came here hoping I'll run into her again." He looks across at the knight, and then asks, "You got a girl, Ser?"

"Sounds like a waste of time," Hardwicke says in a candidly conversational sort of way. "Who is she?" The question neatly deflects Rafferdy's own.

Rafferdy shrugs, "I don't know her name." He sighs, "So… Maybe it IS a waste of time." He smirks, "Maybe I'll spend a week here, looking, and she won't show up." Another shrug, "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Sounds even more like a waste of time," Hardwicke agrees. The slightest hint of a smirk tucks away at one corner of his mouth. "Well, I could," he points out.

Rafferdy nods, "I imagine you could." He smiles, taking a long drink, and then sitting his ale down. "Well… I can tell you'd prefer other company, Ser. So I won't take up any more of your time." He stands, "It was a right nice honor to drink with you, Ser." He nods, and then picks up his music case, and heads for the door.

Kathryna is a woman with a plan. She doesn't care to get kicked out of the Rockcliffe, she goes there too often. But she has heard of a little dive of a tavern, no doubt a place where drunks, idiots and hedge knights might roam. Men too big for their britches with enough booze in their blood to come at an Iron born, woman or not. So, Kate stalks into the place, tossing the door open with a hard thud of a slam, no doubt drawing more than a few eyes in her direction. "What!?" she half growls at the room, the departing Raff included. She spits at the feet of one man who has already stood up and then stalks across the room to get a beer.

Hardwicke snorts again at the note of honor, offering little in the way of farewell, though he does watch Rafferdy as he makes his exit. It leaves him primed to catch sight of Kathryna's entrance, and his brows hike immediately upwards. Her attitude already has his muscles coiling with anticipatory tension in his seat. Here comes trouble.

The knight of the Roost isn't really noted yet, Kate expecting this bar to mostly be smallfolk and low lives. Possibly why she picked here, as they might be more willing to fight a woman when she's seen many of the knights simply won't do it out of propriety. She shoves her way over to the bar, not actually punching anyone yet, but she's not letting anyone get in her way. "How long does it take to get a bloody mug of ale around here?!" She growls down to the bartender, her Iron Isles accent thick and slightly lilting. She is making no measures to hide the fact she's iron born. She is almost showing it off.

Looking supremely annoyed to have to move, Hardwicke nonetheless stands slowly from his place at his table, glass of ale still in one hand. He makes his way slowly over towards the bar, not approaching Kathryna, but — putting himself in easier proximity in case of…you know. Someone taking her up on her obvious offer.

Which, of course, someone is going to take her up on it. There are a lot of lower classes here. Fishermen. People who have lost things to the iron born raids, even if it was years ago. One of the men from a table near the bar stands, not actually one of those she shouldered at the bar. He growls out, somewhat drunkenly, "We don't need your kind here… go back to your islands, ya iron born harlot."

Kate whirls around, eyes widening a bit as she looks at the man and just laughs coldly, "Make me."

"Lady Kathryna," Hardwicke says, not overloud but very distinctly behind her, "I think you have better things to do than tempt drunkards into an easy thrashing." His off hand rests lightly on the hilt of his sword as he takes quick measure of who exactly is paying her mind.

Having spotted Kathryna and thusly followed her at a distance, Damara enters the little hole-in-the-wall just to watch the Lady Harlaw turn and utter her words. The Mistress steps further within, staying back some as she eyes the occupants who altogether do not appear to be too pleased by the woman before them. She clears her throat and tilts her head, making a thin line of her lips as she starts forward towards the other woman. She doesn't say anything quite yet, but does stop to see how things go as the Ser she doesn't not recognize speaks up.

Kathryna doesn't even realize that Damara has come into the room. She bristles a touch more, frowning towards Hardwicke as he mentions her having better things to do. Her head turns towards him to speak with a somewhat wild toss of her ragged blonde hair, "Frankly? Right now? N-" But she doesn't even manage to finish the words, since the drunk who had stood up now takes advantage of Kate's turned head to toss a right cross in her direction that would knock lesser women, and men, out. As is. She just spits blood, picking her head back up in his direction… "Oh. Done and done." She hisses. And then she tosses a punch at him, straight into his gut. She hardly stops moving as he's doubled over, shoving his head into the table in the same motion. "Fucker."

"Oh, for the love of—" Hardwicke finishes the last of his ale before slamming the glass back on the bar with a flare of annoyance. He turns back to eye the conflict, measuring danger levels and the actual risk posed to the diplomatic envoy. From his continued position of observation, it seems he has confidence in her ability to handle the one drunk, at least.

As the punch is thrown, Damara's gaze darkens and she is moving her way through the people gathered. Quickly she is reaching out to try to snag Kathryna back. "Kate!" calls the woman loudly to try to get her attention. She eyes the other man and the way this is all going to pan out. It may be one man now but with his courage the other drunken oafs will most likely get up to join in the fun. "Stop it!! Both of you!" The voice of reprimand rises in her voice, much as it would with a child.

Kathryna can indeed handle the single drunkard on her own. Hell, shoving his skull into the table seems to have about covered it, as he drunk and head spinningly stumbles back, trying to swat at her again but he totally misses. His friends, however, aren't about to allow his pride to be so hurt by a WOMAN. Two others get up out of chairs and begin to circle around Kate, even as the Mistress calls out to Kate. The blonde laughs a bit, though it's cold, half maddened tonight, "I think we are already starting!" And Kate then ducks another thrown punch, jerking her leg out to kick the man's knee out from under him. Unfortunately, she's so busy with him she's not quite noticing the chair the other man is picking up. Time to pick sides, boys and girls.

Well, that's enough of that. Hardwicke steps up to yank the chair in the man's grip, enough to throw him off-balance and grab his attention, before slamming his fist into his face. The man stumbles and lets go of the chair, which the knight tosses down at his feet to trip him further. Riled and restless, his gaze sweeps the rest of the men with a bristling, banked violence. "Anyone," he says in a rough, raised basso, "who doesn't want to taste their blood tonight can sit — the fuck — down."

As more people begin to jump in, Damara is caught off guard, a thrust coming at her as she backs up a step or two, nearly stumbling to the ground. She gasps and blinks, lifting her hand as it cuffs her hard along the cheek and dazes her a moment. Her skin begins to flame and warm where the cuff connected. She blinks again and then grits her teeth, getting into the mix as she shoves the man back, he's drunk - she's nod and he upends over the back of a table - crashing to the floor as another comes at her while her back is turned.

The room, most of which are now on their feet, all stop and stare at Hardwicke for a moment. He would certainly be commanding in a court of nobles or on a tourney field. He might even be commanding a BIT earlier in the evening. But with the scent of blood in the air, a hated Ironborn in their midsts, and a lot of ale in everyone's blood, it just takes a single drunk to stumble forward and — literally — kick Hardwicke in the ASS for total chaos to break out then. Most of it is the drunk room agains Damara, Hardwicke and Kate, but at least the trio have their wits and training about them.

Kate, for her measure, is now doing her very best to take on two at a time. She grunts a thanks to Hardwicke about the chair, "Good man!" She calls out, but there's no time for other congratulations. She shoves her heel into the man's stomach on the floor, trying to knock all air from him as she right crosses his buddy, her knuckles cracking hard enough she might have broken something in his cheek there, or at least a tooth. Another man tosses a mug of ale in her direction. It lands home on the side of her head, causing a grunt of pain, but it manages not to shatter. It just covers her in ale.

Oh no you did not. Hardwicke stumbles, but his dignity is bruised more than his rear, and he wheels around to slam his elbow into the man's temple. He turns without following up, catching a fist in his own face as he fights his way through the crowd to Kate. And once he gets there, his brilliant decision is to lower a shoulder amidst the din and attempt to gather her up to throw her over it. Now they can both smell like ale.

As the room literally explodes as even Hardwicke is attacked, Damara is breathing heavily and feeling her cheek swelling up when she manages to get another table between herself and the man who has attacked her. There is the mutter of 'She's with the ironborn' before she turns and a jerk of her arm sends Damara to the floor, flung down with a loud oof. She grunts and groans a moment before feeling the toe of a boot dig heavily into her ribs. She grimaces and then rises, grasping at the leg of the man to twist and bring him down hard, her jade eyes sparking with hate.

Kathryna manages to dispatch her second attacker, tossing him so hard into the bar he's flipped over the back. Well, shite, that's probably a few other things she'll have to pay for, but she doesn't care right now. Kate clothes lines another man as he starts coming at her, but the side of Damara sinking to the floor makes her eyes go wide. It distracts her enough that Hardwicke can actually get a shoulder beneath her and raise her small body up. Damn, she's heavy! All muscle and that big sword at her side, which she noticeably hasn't pulled yet. "Don't help ME! Help HER! I can FIGHT ya bloody FOOL!" She hisses at him, nodding towards Damara almost desperately as she struggles to get off of his shoulder without hurting one of her only allies. Meanwhile, another man DOES take an opportunity to slam a chair across Kate and Hardwicke's back, full force. "FUCK!" She hisses. That hurt. That might have broke something.

Once he has her on his shoulder, Hardwicke seems rather unwilling to let Kate go, although the blow does bring him stumbling heavily to one knee with a quite colorful curse. As he hoists himself back under the weight of the woman on top of him, he also looses his sword and draws it from its sheath. Even drunkards tend to respect a knight's blade — or just the fact that they don't want to meet the wrong end of it — and he's relying on that to make his way over to Damara.

As the man falls into a heap nearly overtop of her, Damara begins to kick, turning her body around and holding on to him to get a good heel to his chin. She is then doing her best to haul herself up. Breathing deeply, she grimaces and holds her hand to her ribs a moment before she is grabbed at again, the man on the floor dazed and bleeding from his mouth heavily. Her hand slides to her dagger then, pulling it free as she gives a hard thrust with it. "Back.." Shes ays warily and that nice bruise on her cheek is spreading to her right eye.

Kathryna is not going to let Damara, or herself, be hurt one more time by these raving, prejudice lunatic drunks! So, while Hardwicke is struggling to get back up from the hit they both shared, she almost slippery as a fish slides out of his fingertips and back to her own feet. Adrenaline is numbing most of the pain from that rib which is very probably cracked. She too pulls out her sword, too worried about Damara to continue the fight just for the hell of it. She covers Hardwicke's back as they approach Damara. "…Dam, come with us now…The rest of you fucking… Bloody… small minded…Idiots can enjoy tasting your own god-be-damned-BLOOD…" Kate growls to the room, sword lifted for another who would charge forward, but they now genuinely seem somewhat scared of the Ironborn and her alliance with the knight. Naked steel can stop most fights.

Just in case the man atop Damara needs further incentive, Hardwicke yanks on the back of his shirt to pull him bodily away. "Come on," he growls at her, flush with the rush of violence and irritation as he reaches with his off hand to pull her to her feet. TIME TO GO.

Being growled at is not really going to help her mood, but she doesn't fight the knight as her pulls her up. She stands, wiping some blood from the side of her head and keeping close to the other two. A nod is given to Hardwicke and then she backs up a step or two further, keeping her own dagger out. She narrows her gaze and draws a very slow breath, trying to calm the racing of her blood - which only serves to make her dizzy.

Kathryna steps fast around, spitting in the direction of the fleeing man who is leaving the attack of Damara. She narrows her eyes, though, studying him. "I will remember your face. For hurting an innocent." Kate hisses at him, and the threat behind her voice? It is a death threat. But there is not time now. She leans over, pained or not, to help scoop an arm beneath Damara and assist her out to the door. Kate now does actually let Hardwicke totally protect their backs as she is more focused on assisting her friend out, "We… we'll get you to a Maester, Dam… just hold on…"

That's right. Hardwicke will bring up the rear, which looks like the exact thing he was hoping to do tonight. Definitely not sit and relax and enjoy an ale. When they finally break out into the open air, he is looking ruffled and bristly and overall annoyed. "What," he says in an entirely reasonable tone to Kate, "the fuck is wrong with you?" Except by reasonable, read: angry.

Accepting Kate's help, at least for the moment, Damara breathes a bit easier once they are in the open air. Blouse is a bit torn, bloods pattered on her boot and down the neck of her shirt. She's got a growing fat lip and a cut along her right temple where her cheekbone and pale skin is quickly bruising. Her ribs are a little tender and she is about to continue moving when the knight gives a rather angry question. She really can't blame him. She lifts her gaze to him and she shakes her head at him, dark auburn hair shifting about her features. "Best to keep moving, just in case they get some courage in numbers.."

Kathryna growls out quietly, "I needed to release some steam. And THEY threw the first punch, if you didn't notice." She grumbles. Not that she didn't entirely coax the punch on, but she didn't throw it. She's innocent, she swears. She walks with just a bit of a hitch in her step, but is doing her best to ignore the pain as she helps carry her friend back towards the more civilized side of town. "It would have gone fine if they hadn't attacked the poor Mistress here… bloody… fecking… idiots. She had nothing to do with it! Fuck, Dam, I'm sorry… I really am. How bad are you?"

"Because you walked in there and begged them to," Hardwicke snaps back. He is not fooled by your insular logic! "It's your own fault she ended up in this mess." Like the others, he has not escaped unscathed: his face is scraped where he took hits, and he holds himself with a certain amount of care that suggests more internal injuries. Grararar.

"I am fine!" Damara insists, trying to speak over both of them. The usually quiet and demure mistress looks between them. "It doesn't matter…what is done is done…I will live and I have had far worse…" She explains rather certainly. Her eyes hitch up to Kathryna and than to the knight. "We all need to be seen to, so enough…" She huffs a little and then smiles faintly. "I am not completely helpless…just wish I had my bow instead…though I am not certain I could do much good in there." She is still bruised from her little blades lesson.

"That is why we must work together more, Damara. You will see as many fights like that in your life as you will bow fights." Especially as she persists as Kate's friend! That's probably a rather common issue for Kate, really. She sighs and continues to gently stalk off towards the castle and, probably, the maester. Hardwicke is given a little glare, "It's done and over. They were asking for it." She leaves it there, grumbling off into the night.