|Dum Dum Diddle|
|Summary:||Jac and Darek talk about drummers, knights, and girls.|
|Date:||25 July 2012|
|Related Logs:||None specifically.|
|Town Square, Terrick's Roost|
|The town square of Terrick's Roost was once considered well-kept. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise sprung up between them, although dark streaks of stubborn soot have crawled in between the stones. There are several homes and shops located here which show the scars and cinders of the sacking of the town at Ironborn hands. The ruin of the town's Sept can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road.|
|July 25, 289|
A late morning lull has taken over the Town Square. Much of the usual bustle has pittered out into a peaceful quiet. Jac Caddock relishes in it. Several hay bales have been left at the intersection of the square and the road leading through the Roost, and the Songbird is seated on the makeshift chair they offer. He is widdling away at a bit of wood, creating a smooth tube with long and agile strokes. It is not that much of a surprise that he sings, the song a bit of a dirge but not quite a lament.
"I don't think you're right for him.
Look at what might have been, if you
Took the road to Riverrun.
I'd be standing by Red Fork,
And you'd be standing next to me."
He whistles through the bridge.
"I belong with you, you belong with me. You're my sweetheart."
Darek comes running through the mostly-empty streets, the slow, weary trudge of someone who has been at this far too long in his opinion. The squire has tied his shirt about his waist, leaving him bare-chested under his open vest. This displays leather bracelets and beaded necklace, as well as showing just how sweaty he's gotten. Panting to a halt alongside the haybales, he rests his hands on his knees, breathing hard. "Five." There's a moment's pause, and then he gasps out, "If… you've got… water… you can be… my sweetheart… Ser." Ah, the lot of a squire, to run for failures real and imagined.
Jac continues to whistle as he widdles out what appears to be the body of a flute. He doesn't look up right away as the squire comes to a halt before his throne of hay, though he does cease whistling long enough to chortle. "I'm sorry, boy. You are definitely not my type." He does reach down beside him for the waterskin, and he chucks it toward the young knight-to-be. It is only now that he actually looks up toward the sweaty teenager. "Don't guzzling," he warns, "the water will do no good if you chug it." He waits until the squire has whet his mouth and lips, flipping the knife in his hand to reshealth it on his belt.
Darek looks up in time to catch the waterskin, "Good." He pulls the cork with his teeth, then upends a good slosh over his head, reaching up to scrape his now-soaked hair out of his face, "Not… my type… either." Only after he's doused himself with water does he take a pull from the skin, swallowing it quickly to resume his panting. "Might've… found us… a drummer." As if the knight cares. It's the squire who's always going on about getting a drummer for this theoretical band.
Jac flips the rod about in his hands, smirking a bit at the boy's agreement — they aren't each other's type, glad they got that squared away. He glances up toward him at the news of this supposed drummer, and he breathes out a sigh. "A drummer?" He inquires, though the question seems entirely rhetorical. "I don't think we need a drummer," the Knight remarks with a bit of dryness in his tone. He holds out his hand so the boy can return the waterskin. "But," he says, with a grumpy sort of quality. "Tell me about this… drummer…"
Darek takes another slug from the waterskin, swallows, looks down at the extended hand, then takes another quick swig and hands it back. "Fill out… the sound." He's starting to get his breath back, and he can even mostly straighten up again. "Me fiddling, you singing. Needs a drum." There's a pause for a few breaths, "Maybe two." And then he's scrubbing back his hair again, and offering up, "Bard's apprentice or something. Blind girl. Good harpist and singer." Apparently, he was listening from the kitchen after Lady Alys sent him packing. "Said she plays the drums too, and might want to play with us." And now he's mostly got his breath back, although he's still sweat-streaked and mostly shirtless.
The Songbird is quiet through the boy's explaination as he takes back the waterskin. He takes his own mouthful of water, swishing it around in his cheeks as his thoughts swirl about. Finally, he swallows. "Darek… I appreciate your will and want for the muscial world. But, you're a squire. By being a squire, that means you want to be a knight." He sits up straighter on his throne of hay, leaning over across his knees and his weight into his elbows. "There isn't time to be part of a… band… and train to be a knight." He exhales. "There isn't time to be a wandering minstrel and be a knight."
Darek frowns a little bit at the first words from his new knight, apparently not sensing a problem here. The last point, however, draws him up a bit in revulsion, "Fuck no… I don't want to be a damned wandering minstrel." Daddy issues much? And then he remembers to append, "…Ser." He must be pretty distracted, considering he's usually quite good at the whole 'proper titles' thing. "It's just like… there's this music inside me, and it's got to come out." He gestures back up the way he just came a-sweating, "Don't I do everything that needs to be done? Keep your armor cl — " Okay, no one keeps anything belonging to Jac 'clean,' "fixed up? Tend to your horse? Do all the lessons you want?"
Jac crosses his arms as he leans back into his throne once more. He arches his brows a bit at the delayed addition of the honorific, but he doesn't comment on it — at least for now. Instead, he continues to watch the boy with those medium-toned brown eyes. He exhales out his nose, flexing his fingers a bit over his upper arms. "Then let it out, but do you need a drummer to let it out? Do you need me so you can let it out?" He shakes his head a bit, offering the boy a low, rumbling chuckle. "You do everything that needs to be done, Darek. But what happens when we head back to Highfield? Or when we go to Stonebridge? Will you drag about a little blind bard with you everywhere we go?"
Darek hunches up his shoulders a bit, untying the shirt from around his waist and wiping his face with it, "No… I don't need either of 'em. Just my fiddle." Now he's getting defensive, "But what's the harm in wanting more sound? Don't you ever want to sing with other people? Or with instruments?" The question about dragging the blind bard around draws a laugh though, and a little bit of the usual Darek returns, "Fuck no, Ser. No part for a girl in all this." He gestures from himself to the knight and back, "Girls are for fun and for flirting and for making blush, yeah?"
Jac exhales, rubbing his hand back through his hair again, the longer locks sliding through his fingers with a touch of strange familiarity. "Now and then," he says honestly about the instrument thing. "I sing with knights and brothers in arms." He gives the boy a critical look before he offers a low chuckle. He shakes his head a bit. "Then perhaps you find another squire who can play the drums, and leave the girls for fun, blushing, and flirting." He pauses a moment. "Or are you sweet on this particular girl? Is she perhaps more than just fun, flirting, and blushing?"
Darek snorts softly, "None of the squires up here can play. They're all lame." Very mature, Darek. "What's wrong with playing an instrument with a girl, anyhow? It's not like I'm tryin' to get her to play the skin flute." The question about him being sweet on the bardette causes him to snort, "Fuck no. She's kinda pretty, but she's built like a 12-year-old. I like girls with hips and tits." And he makes the classic gesture of delightful curves with both hands. Maybe the hips are a bit bigger than the boobs in this case, "No, she's just interesting for the music." He wrinkles up his nose, "And she's got a dog too. Fuckin' dogs."
With an old man's groan, Jac begins to heave himself off of his hay throne. He brushes a bit of straw from his breeches, stepping forward toward his squire. He is stretching his arms up through much of Darek's words, though he freezes when he begins to talk of hips and tits. Now, Jac is not one to hit his squires, but he delivers Darek quite a thump to the back of his head. "None of that," he says firmly. "I pray to the Gods you don't go dismissing girls because they aren't the proper shape for you. Unless your talking to a bunch of whores, they tend to react poorly to that kind of shit." He smirks. "Lesson number twenty," he says, finger shaking. "You want a girl to like you, you don't mention their tits nor their ass. Talk about their eyes, their hair, their lips. Mention that you like the way they smile. There's more to a girl that's what's below the neck and above the knees."
Darek jerks forward at the smack to the back of his head, either not expecting it or not trying to avoid it. Shaking his hair back out of his face, he turns a momentary glare over his shoulder, "What, you're saying I should get all cozy with some girl I'm not attracted to, Ser? Sure, I like eyes, and hair, and lips, and voices, and music, and all that." His hands windmill a little helplessly, as if seeking for purchase like his thoughts, "I've had plenty of experience with getting girls to like me, Ser." He doesn't mention that he likes knees and calves and ankles too. See, he can be taught. "How do you know, anyhow, Ser? Ser Henrik said you got married real young." Well, younger than Darek plans to get married, which is about fourty, assuming he lives that long and doesn't die young and leave a pretty corpse.
"No," Jac says with a smirk. "You should get cozy with a girl you are attracted to, but you got to find more than hips and tits to be attracted to." He smirks a bit as he crosses his arms at his chest, stance a bit wide to take on the classic Caddock pose. He smirks a bit. "I was married when I was twenty-two, boy. That's old compared to some." He shakes his head a bit. "And it took a lot of effort to woo my wife." There is a bit of lightness in his tones, but it only slightly hides the touch of sorrow in the undertones. He gives the boy a careful look. "So, you aren't interested in the blind girl. If you want to spend time playing with her while we are at the Roost, alright."
Darek gestures up toward his own face in protestation, "I said eyes, and lips, and… all that," but he subsides quickly enough. The revelation draws a bit of a frown, "Twenty-two? Damn, that is getting up there." Ahh, the young. "Guess it was young for Ser Henrik." The permission draws him up again, and he finishes mopping off his frame with his shirt, "Thanks, Ser. Just something to do in the evenings, you know? When I'm not playin' on my own. The girls down at the Rockcliff like it when I play." And that cocky grin is back, pushing dimples across his face, "You'd probably like the little blind girl too. She's kinda cute, and like I said, really good with music and singing."
Jac breathes out a sigh, shaking his head. "As long as you don't get in trouble, Darek," the knight almost implores. "Remember your manners. Nobles frequent the inn as much as commoners do, and you are still a squire of Hollyholt when you are there." He smirks a bit, looking over at the boy. "And try to also be mindful what you say around the girls. I will hear about that as well." Because damnit, girls talk to one another and if Lady Alys hears something, she will certainly tell Jac. He shakes his head a bit. "Well, go find your blind girl. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear that you are going to play with her." He shakes his head as he starts to step away. "You have the rest of the day off, Darek."
Darek starts to put on a clearly false face of innocence, but gives up halfway there, "I'm usually real good, Ser. Ser Henrik taught me well. It's just sometimes I don't think before I say something." Where 'sometimes' is, 'at least 51% of the time.' Still, he snorts, "She's not my blind girl, Ser. Think that… what'sit… the soppy Terrick courier's got his eyes on her." There's a moment's pause, and then he notes, "Then again, I don't know there's any girl he hasn't got his eyes on." Pot, meet kettle. Still, he gives a rough salute, fist full of sweat-soaked shirt to chest, and then adds, "I keep hearing about this whole cliff-jumping thing. Apparently you can jump off the cliffs near here. Sounds like fun. You ever try anything like that, Ser?"
Jac halts, turning to look toward the common boy. "I heard that Ser Kamron Mallister hosted something like that. He loosens his arms from across his chest. "I have not had the chance to do something like that in many years, Darek. Perhaps if another such outting is arranged, I will see if my old bones can handle it." He offers the boy a wry grin before he continues to step in the direction of the Sept. It is time to light another candle for his father. His alloted time of mourning is almost up, and then he will have to find his bearings once more.
Darek blinks after Jac, muttering to himself, "Outing? I just thought I'd get some girls out there and impress 'em a bit." Scratching at his luxurious mop of hair, he grunts in thought, "Huh. An outing." And then he's off to go fetch his fiddle. Five laps around the Keep and a couple of hours of training before that is far too long to be separated from it.