Page 015: Idle Fancies
Idle Fancies
Summary: Jarod and Rowan talk on Lady Nameless. Ser Rivers puts a merciful end to his attempted beard.
Date: 27/07/288
Related Logs: Horse Whispering; Lady Anonymous; etc.
Jarod Rowan 
A tent
Tent-like things.
Wed Jul 27, 288

Jarod is in his tent in the Terrick camp. Shaving. Mercifully. It seems he's finally decided to heed the advice of…everyone and put an end to his toying with beard-dom. He's seated in front of a basin with a small mirror propped up adjacent to it. Shirt off, face lathered with soap he's carefully razoring away. There's a dark bruise on the back of his right shoulder, but apart from that he's not done himself any visible damage in the tourney yet. Well, the melee is still a few days away. He sports only a couple older scars. A slice under his right arm that he took during the rebellion, only visible when he reaches upward. And an uncannily 'P' shaped scar on his right backside, which he refuses to explain the origin of. Also mercifully he's wearing pants at the moment, so the latter isn't visible.

Rowan pushes his way through the tent flap, smiling faintly and humming to himself. He stops at the sight of Jarod debearding, hesitating as though he might turn around and go right back out again. But he doesn't. Instead, he strolls on through to his bedroll, approving on the way, "Best idea you've had in a fortnight."

Jarod pats his cheek idly with the back of his hand once he's cleansed it, smiling a smirk variation on his boyish grin, shaking his head at himself in the mirror. "Rivers, you stupid bastard…" It's muttered with a chuckle, albeit one contains a more rueful than jolly sort of humor. It takes him a moment to realize he's no longer alone, head turning at the sound of Rowan's voice. "Oh. Was starting to wonder where you'd gotten off to. Aye. Decided I didn't care for it much. Girls don't like a beard, Rowan. Just gets in the way."

The lad smirks, sitting and pulling off his boots. "I don't forsee myself having that problem, Ser. But I think you, yourself, are considerably better off." He looks perhaps a beat or two long, then away, stretching out to lie with his arms tucked behind his head. "Was it a particular girl that prevailed on your opinion, or just the overwhelming weight of funny looks and gibes?"

"Nothing in particular, Rowan," is Jarod's muttered reply. Not that he's looking at the squire as he says it. The shaving is occupying him. "None that I would have or that would have me. I told you I was in training, and in training I remain, save for the good favor of My Lady Nameless." He raises his favor-decorated wrist to wriggle, before resuming shaving. "Oh, have one of the smiths look over my armor on the morrow. I think the chest straps are suffering from the wet weather we've had this season, and that's the sort of thing you don't terribly want to break away when a large man hits you."

Rowan stifles a yawn and stretches. "Will do, Ser." He pauses a moment, then ventures, "Have you written her, then?"

Jarod shakes his head. "Not yet. I am still compositioning." That has an ominous sound to it. "Tym Rivers said he'd help me with it. Not sure what he tells girls to get them to let that lazy bastard between their thighs, but it works whatever it is." His tone is fond. "I'd like to get Josse's opinion on it, too. He's into that sensitive bosh. Women like that." Face unbearded, he splashes his face in the water of his basin.

"I'd imagine Tym's trick involves a lot more wine than words," Rowan drawls, tone bone dry. He laughs and shakes his head. "What happened to just telling her how you feel? Being yourself and all that, since it seems like it's yourself she adores."

"Girls don't want that, Rowan," Jarod says with a snort, kicking off his boots and going to toss himself down on his bedroll. "No offense, lad, but you're about the last person I'm going to talk to for advice about women. Not until you've been deflowered of your delicate squire-head, that is."

"Ha!" Rowan barks a short laugh, sitting up and turning to narrow his eyes at Jarod. "And what does rutting with whores and tavern wenches teach you about what women want — outside of bed?" He jabs a finger at the air in Jarod's general direction. "You, my good Ser, haven't got the slightest idea what to do with the kind of woman you've got on the other end of that pen. You've never wooed one like her — scratch that, have you ever wooed at all?" He lifts an eyebrow. "A woman's heart and mind and not her loins?"

"Fuck you, I've wooed plenty," Jarod retorts in a jolly sort of way. "You talk to girls. You make them laugh. Women like a bloke who makes them laugh. Figured that out the first time, lucky me." He grins a little. "Only thing that's different about this one is that she seems more…serious. And literate. She seems real literate. That's a bit intimidating, I'll have to admit."

Rowan snorts and rolls his eyes. "Uh-huh." He yawns again and flops back. "Well, it's not like the lady loves you because you're a product of the Citadel, Jarod. You've got other qualities. I'm sure she can't — " he pauses, considering. "Well, I'm sure there's got to be something you can do she can't. She like as not can't piss standing. Not with any accuracy."

"This is true. You can't teach that. Though you can work to improve your distance," Jarod says, getting a laugh out of that. "I just wonder who she *is* Rowan? How in seven hells do you figure out what to say to a girl you can't even put a face to? And if she is a noblewoman, I'll have to figure out how to put her off this nonsense without being too mean about it. I mean, don't get me wrong, this is fun. In a funny way. I just hope she's not taking me too…serious." He likely lives in fear of the day a woman takes him seriously.

"Would that be such a terrible thing?" Rowan muses, rolling over onto his side to regard Jarod. "So what if she's in love with you? You're certainly worth loving. Perhaps she is, too." He shrugs. "And think of the money you'd save on whores."

"In *love*? Fucking seven hells, Rowan." Jarod laughs. "You're taking this more to heart than I am, I swear. Relax. Nobody's in love with me." He rolls over with a grunt as he gets more comfortable. "Ten to one I've not properly met the girl at all, or I don't know why she'd bother with these games. Unless, again, it's someone who it'd be disaster for me to fuck around with, in which case that sort of talk is still a load of nonsense. Like as I'll never hear from Lady Anonymous again once the tourney's over. And that's all right. This is all flattering, I'll not deny it. I mean…never had anyone write that sort of thing about me before." He grins. "But it's all still just in fun. At least a whore's real, even if she generally doesn't mean the things she says to you."

Rowan sighs. "Maybe I am," Rowan says, rolling over onto his back again, studying the canvas ceiling. "Maybe I am. But what if she is real?" He turns his head, eyebrows raised. "What then?" He grins, going on, "Real, and beautiful, and your match in every way. Will you run, brave Ser?"

"Can't run from somebody who won't show her face to me, now can I?" Jarod replies. It's a non-answer, but it's true enough. He closes his eyes, yawning. "And if she doesn't…maybe that's not so bad. Not much to get your hands around with an idle fancy, Rowan, but they can be fun at times. Particularly *if* you don't get your hands around them. Reality tends to put a damper on them. I've had far more foolish ones than the ones this lady's giving me. It's something to dream on. I don't expect more than that. Likely she doesn't want more, either, or she wouldn't be…anonymous."

A bit of a fidgeter until he finally gets to sleep, Rowan flops over onto his belly and pulls the pillow beneath his head. "Maybe she's…" he yawns hugely, "working up to it. If you really have feelings for someone, telling them can be terrifying."

"Aye…maybe…" That's actually not met with any sort of quippy argument from Jarod. "Anyhow, I'll just dream on it for now. See you in the morning, Rowan. Remember. Armor. And touch up on the paint on my shield. I want the gold to flash proper. Got to give the lady a fine show, even if I won't know where she's sitting." Those orders issued, he falls quiet. Starting to snore eventually.