|In the Stables|
|Summary:||Aeliana meets Brogan and then…Lorcan, oh my.|
|Stables and Kennels, Four Eagles Tower|
|The Tower's Main Stables are nestled into the corner of the courtyard near the portcullis to facilitate quick, easy exits when required. The rear of the structure is backed right against the interior wall of the castle with the heavy wooden roofing gently sloped down towards the slate out front, the floor of the stables kept to dirt. Thick wooden beams are plunged into the ground and serve as a base for the walls between each stall. Hay serves as most of the flooring in the area with a large stack of it off to the side. Each stall has a thick layer on the ground to serve as bedding, with most of the space dedicated to horses though a few have pens of dogs and hounds. An enclosed structure at the end serves as dry storage for riding equipment and saddles.|
|Fri Sep 28, 289|
Between all the stabbings and ill-timed jokes regarding war atrocities, Brogan has finally found the time to come back down to the stables. Mindful of ruining his clothes, he has his sleeves rolled up and a bucket in his hand. He's currently tending to one of the stalls where the hounds are kept, tossing what looks to be the the unwanted parts of a boar into the stall to the delighted growling and yipping of the dogs inside. He chuckles to himself as he watches them fight over it.
There's no sign of an entourage for the Terrick who empties the bucket out finally and flips it upside down so that he may sit on it, watching the hounds eat.
"You recall what happened the last time, yes? Make sure he's stabled near the end and kept away from the younger lads; perhaps a word to the girls who wander through not to give him sweets if they'd like to keep their fingers," Aeliana warned the stablehand. An older gentlemen who appeared at least, to have his head about him. Stranger was a beast of a horse at any rate; a courser meant for a knight, bred and trained for such a thing and ridden..by a woman. "I'll be round in the mornings as before to do his tending myself," it came with a little nod of her head at the man's agreement, before the lady smacked the dust free from her riding gloves on the stable door and moved to step away.
It was the ruckus of the hounds that caught her attention then and the man who was feeding them. An easy smile touched the lady's lips then and with a last glance in Stranger's direction; watching to ensure that he was tended as she'd bid, she began making her way in his direction. "Good evening, my Lord," rolled the greeting; but which Lord the lady couldn't say.
Strange horses Brogan would notice, and Aeliana would probably take note of him glancing over in her general direction. When she actually heads in his direction, his face turns to an initial surprise that eventually makes way for a slight smile. He rises up from the wooden throne, a practiced bow performed for Aeliana. "My Lady," he greets, starting to refastening the sleeves of his tunic while he considers her. "If you don't mind my asking, you've an interesting choice for a horse. Most Ladies prefer a palfrey or a rouncey," Brogan explains, smiling a bit more as he finally decides to add at the end, "…Ser Brogan Terrick, fresh from the Eyrie with my family."
It's a beautiful horse, at the very least, sixteen hands with a sleek black mane, squired by Harold Charlton's Wicked; the lady rides a horse with a line as well tended as her own. Yet a low curtsy is offered in response to his own, a graceful swirl of emerald skirts; accented in a gold hue that match the ribbons of her hair and do well to whisper of her house. "Tis my sense of humor that condemns me, I'm afraid," Aeliana replies, "A man rides for war to do battle and he must be ready, but a woman's war is one done over tea and needles. Should I not be prepared?" The Charlton teases, humor dancing in her eyes. "Alas, few if ever readily grasp the joke. But welcome, regardless, Ser Brogan Terrick," she smiles, adding, "Aeliana Chartlon current guest of your extended family's hospitality here at the Roost."
Brogan shows absolutely no extra reaction at the declaration of the woman's family, merely nodding and smiling in response. "Lady Aeliana - I hope you've found the place to your liking, though I might be considered as much a guest as yourself for now. I was just a boy when we left for the Eyrie. Invasion's caused the game in the area to thin, though I managed to get a decent enough boar near the outer reaches yesterday. I was just feeding the scraps to the hounds," explains Brogan, a tiny grin catching his lips as he looks over to the pens. "I need to start making them like me if I'm going to use them - beasts are honest, food will usually get them on your side. Tea, I'm not so sure of," he says in a subdued, but playful tone.
"I have found it infinately welcoming," Aeliana replies in sweetly cordial tones. "And there is something relaxing to be said of the ocean. I spent my life with naught but rivers and would-be streams around Hollyholt and later at the Twins. You seem the fortunate one of the pair of us though, the glorious mountians of the Eyrie and now the sea? It's enough to make a girl jealous," Aeliana muses thoughtfully; casting a glance towards her ladies, lingering ever near the main door to the stable, though just faintly out of earshot. When she looks back those dark eyes linger on the man for but a moment before looking to the hounds. It remains there too, but for his jest, where her laughter rings forth rich and easy, "Oh now my Lord, don't underestimate it just yet. You've not sat down to tea with me, after all. But you have my attention, with the hounds. I find hawking too kind a sport and am entirely useless with a spear. Perhaps I could watch you with the hounds, however? I've been considering an investing in such a creature," she admits.
"I do miss the Eyrie, spent most of my life there. But I still have fond memories of the Roost. Hopefully my family's arrival here will prove a boon instead of just more mouths to feed," Brogan remarks hopefully, though the twitch of his lips implies there's not much hope of that, knowing his father. "The common women I've seen use a cudgel, but I'd guess you're not very interested in beating things to death with blunt objects. I suppose it's fine if you are, however! So long as it's not me, who am I to judge? It's good to see Ladies who live more honestly, don't you think?" poses the Terrick, that grin of his growing just a little as he does. At mention of the dogs, he looks a little apologetic. "I ran out of scraps - it was a decent boar, but still probably one some other hunter ignored when the game was more plentiful. I have a couple I have my eye on, but I should leave them be. Of all of her sons, I am the greatest bane of my mother's sewing hand. Torn fabric, mud, losses of buttons and fastenings and entire sleeves and leggings somehow have caused me to be a little sympathetic for all she's done for me. If I took it to Faline, I'd never hear the end of her bragging."
"The Roost has been too empty of Terricks," Aeliana remarks in response to his hope of his family. "And it seems that…sour luck befalls most of it's sons, if you'll forgive my saying. There's a few men notorious for poor decisions in my own family." A rueful smile tempers the words, but there's an easy consideration in her eyes. "Beating?" Laughter at that; a wild shake of those dark fey curls, "No. What if I miss? Or it takes too long. I prefer not to beat animals nor servants. The animals at least deserve a quick death, or perhaps if I am to be really honest," Ae offers him a grin, "I'm in search of the thrill. The ride behind the hounds, the chase. Yes," and there that grin turns smile, "It's the chase I want. No cudgels. Or perhaps I'll just run it down and you can beat it to death, hm?" Teases, before she laughs in full to his errant ways with ruined clothing. "I…do want to know how you manage to loose so very much, Ser Brogan or would the tales be too sordid for my ears?"
"Sordid? Not in the least," chortles the Terrick, wandering over to the stall where his own horse stands - a strong brown courser with a dark mane - and gives him a few fond pats on the neck as he reaches in to feed him some oats to distract the horse while Brogan checks him over for wounds or other possible problems. "In the Roost and the Eyrie, I took to the countryside instead of court. Climbing the cliffs, swimming in the sea, wrestling dogs in the mud and running through the bush. Velvet doesn't take any of that very well. At the same time, I can't embarrass father by running around in burlap. So as a boy, I simply didn't care," Brogan explains with a laugh as he recalls those days, peering at his horse's eyes. "My cousin, Justin, said he'd be planning a hunt into your family's newly gained lands soon. I'll definitely be along - far be it from me to avoid a family function I'll actually enjoy - but I'm sure you could come along, if you were interested. Won't see me with a cudgel, however, I prefer my bow or my dagger if I need to get close."
"Climbing cliffs…," Aeliana shakes her head on a chuckle, "You shall be more at home here than perhaps you know. Your cousin, Ser Justin is fond of climbing cliffs as well, though he likes to jump once he reaches the top. I don't suppose you do the same, do you?" Inquired with a curious tilt of her head; though those dark eyes followed him towards his horse and there, lingered. "He's a beautiful animal," complimented and meant. "Though I don't think that you'd look fashionable in burlap." She doesn't say it'd fit the near beggered state of the Roost. That would be..rude. "Still, I may join the hunt, if only for the ride. It would do Stranger to have an excuse to stretch his legs." As long as she doesn't have to -stay- in Highfield. After all, she'd only recently escaped it again.
"Obviously, or else why climb them at all?" replies Brogan, holding back a chuckle as he does. "I'm rarely one for looking fashionable, Lady Aeliana. You'd probably rather…" Brogan is cut off as he's approached by a young boy in rags, tugging at the hem of his tunic. "M'lordm'lord, theothersareridingoutfortheNaylandsyou'dbettergettherefast!" he stammers out, inhaling a gigantic breath afterward and huffing as he supports himself on a beam. Brogan blinks at the child, smiling nervously to Aeliana. "…I /think/ I have to take my leave, Lady Aeliana. Looks like I have to head off, putting on that armor's going to make me late enough. Hopefully I'll see you again, hm? Good evening," he speaks with his final farewell, snapping his fingers at the boy to follow him as he opens up his horse's stall and saddles him up, leading him out of the stables.
Aeliana chuckles at the youth, before she attemps to stifle the sound, humor dancing in her eyes. "You've a long winded…helper there, Ser Brogan," Aeliana offers, before her head dips low in understanding. "And of course you shall," see her again that is, "Someone's got to be here to greet the lot of you upon return, no? Have a safe journey, Ser," offered at the last and turned her attention back to the hounds; watching them chomp at the remaining scraps. Now who's she supposed to harass. Siiiigh.
Lorcan whistles as he makes his way into the stables with a bag of oats. He eyes those lingering there for a brief moment, and breezes past after failing to recognize anyone. There's probably more important places for him to be, but no one has screamed at him yet, so here he is, crossing to pet his horse lovingly and sit beside her on a barrel. "How's my sweetheart? Don't worry, you'll get over your lockjaw soon." He pats her muzzle, frowning. "Just don't be tellin' anyone else they'll kick us out. They don't want diseased horses m'sure."
Aww! Not to be eavesdropping but…Aeliana was. And the Lord was gone, she can fret less about getting her hands dirty. "Lockjaw, was it?" The inquiring little creature in green and gold inquires; with hair that looks like she's lingered too long on a cliff. But it /always/ looks like that and she can't seem to make it tame. "The poor thing, has it been treated?" The questions just…continue right along as she ambles over towards the pair. "Don't tell the Sheriff or he'll make a big fuss."
Lorcan stares at the doe-eyed beauty walking his way. /Don't look at her tits, don't grab her ass…/ He forces an uneasy smile, getting to his feet to offer a bow. Assume everyone is noble. EVERYONE. "Aye, she's been treated, she's just waitin' it out now. Who's th' sheriff? So I can avoid 'im."
Oblivious to the line of his thoughts, Aeliana offers an easy welcoming smile, one that'll hopefully ease a little of that wariness from his face. He's got a beard, she's got a weakness. Though a polite curtsy's offered in response to his bow; erring towards caution rather than insult; even if that accent might be a clue. "Tall fellow, grey eyes. Hair just so," she gestures ear length, "Rides a grey-white gelding with dark socks. Justin Terrick is his name." But then her eyes slid on towards his horse; admiring. "Hopefully they'll not remove you."
"Fuck me runnin' it's Justin," Lorcan grumbles, but a smile grows at her politeness. "Dun' think he likes me too much. He's a big feller too. Oh I'd hope he wouldn't remove me, I'm here servin' with Farrell Keane, if ya' know him. And who might you be, m'lady? Strange to see such a gem in the stables with the rest of us animals."
Aeliana's laughing before she means to, with a hand to attempt to muffle it before she gets herself under control. "Oh, so you know him then?" Gossip, oh it's a deadly thing. "Now I'm just curious what you might know," she teases, before a brow lofts high with his mention of Ser Farrell. But know him? "No. No I don't think I do." And it's not a lie, /persay/ because Farrell is like a clam she can't pry open. Even if she does preen just a -little- at the compliment. "But he's serving some Charlton, isn't he? I didn't know he had company." Also true! "But Strange? Stranger," because she has a terrible sense of humor, "Is the reason I'm in the stables," at which point the lady gestured towards the large black courser stabled at the end.
"Mm-hm, Charltons. For some damn reason. Gods bless him though - I'd prolly' be livin' in some carriage down by the river if it weren't for him. I'm s'posed to watch my tone," he nods, hands folded over one another before him. "Ser Harold hired us on. I think. Oh, m'Lady, I don't know much else about Justin." Pause. "I'm sure he's a good man as well," he then intones, as if rehearsed. Scratching his beard, his eyes follow her gesture. "Good lookin' horse. Is it yours?"
"Your tone is fine, I assure you. Granted…in a larger mixed company it might be an issue but, I prefer honesty. Even if it's blunt. I've ladies who're bland enough in their speech if I take a notion to go be bored," she teases; grin sly. "Pity bout Justin though. You certainly sounded like you'd a story when I mentioned him," she prods before giving up with a little shrug, "But aye, he's mine. Actually, you may have seen his sire. Wicked? Ser Harold rides him."
"It's better if I don't talk at all," Lorcan nearly mumbles. Seems he's been lashed pretty hard recently, though he does smirk slightly at her mention of bland ladies. Oh they can be bland. Blanddd… "Wicked… Oh, then I have. Ride him often? You still haven't introduced yourself, m'Lady," he notes kindly.
"Yes, but better for who? Would you really leave me all alone in the dark when you know something I clearly don't?" She half pouted, offering him a hopeful set of big ole doe eyes. "I do. Yes. Every chance I get. It's the power, I think. That thrill of control." Aeliana loves horses. Yet, at his prompting she flashes him a grin. "Oh did I not? Aeliana Charlton," that grin turned near wicked, "and Uncle Harry didn't mention you."
Lorcan isn't rightly sure what to make of her less-than-wholesome expression. "He didn't like me none either. But I was kinda' drunk at the time. Woulda' been better prepared if I'd be warned!" Her doe-eyes seem to disarm him. "Power-hungry little dove, aren't ya', m'Lady." He leaves his horse with that bag of oats and draws his dagger to inspect the edge. "Ser Harold's your uncle… I would've never guessed."
"You were drunk when you met Ser Justin? You didn't confuse him for a lady did you?" She teases; rocking back on the balls of her feet and glancing towards the main entrance where her ladies waited. Her handmaid's look was worthy of ignoring. "I am not power hungry!" Aeliana defends, "I just enjoy a good hard ride. What's the point of having something made for it and never using it?" To say she's not like Harold though, simply makes her grin. "I'm not surprised. There's a good many who think I'm nothing like the rest of my family at all. I can't imagine why." Blink blink.
Ohhh the innuendos. Say dirty things, SAY THEM. Lorcan chews on his lip, eyes drifting to the sloped roof. "What's the point indeed! Always use your tools." Well that's as far as he's going to go. There's handmaidens right there, after all. And he's just a lowly piss-for-blood commoner. "S'all right to be a little power hungry. Only way to get ahead sometimes. Well don't let me keep you, Lady Aeliana. Looks like they're waitin' on ya'."
"Exactly." Man, Aeliana's digging a hole that she doesn't mean too. "And I do, each and every one of them. Thoroughly. The question is, how can I use you, Ser …Bluekite, isn't it? I think Ser Farrell has mentioned you once. Or will you be as he, a quiet shadow that refuses to offer much of anything to the conversation?" Inquired, as she glanced towards the ladies and then, shrugged. "Let them wait. Unless you're thirsty? And then I could be persuaded to buy you a drink."
Lorcan appears thoroughly troubled now. Most noblewomen just smile and wave their hands occasionally. "I'm no quiet shadow, you can ask any feller I ride into battle with. They can't get me to shut up! But er… See, I can't be goin' off doin' such things with Ladies. Ruins reputation and all that, so Farrell says. Unless it's a part of the job, havin' drinks. Is… it a part of the job?"
"You can't go to an inn and have a drink on…your employers coin?" That merits a look of shock all on its own. "I could say it's part of the job, but then you might run with it and I don't particularly want you drunk when you should be saving my neck. On the other hand, we could stay here and go drink in my room, although at the moment it's Justin's room because they're a bit short on rooms here juggling so many guests. Of course, then Rayleen would cram in close, as would Myrth, and for a Septa she's not all that funny. Oh!" The babbling seems to cease as she cues in a point that may have been overlooked, "Did Ser Farrell mention the particulars in regards to diallances?"
"You shan't be in danger when I'm about, m'Lady. Even when drunk!" Lorcan assures boisterously, hands settling on his hips. "Your… room?" Red flag! Even if it'll be packed with maids and… Justin. Though he's supposed to take orders… "Whatever you wish, m'Lady. No, he hasn't. What ought I know about daliances?"
No no. Justin's sleeping outside in a tent. Oh god, that sounded so wrong. "I'm capable of having a private conversation behind a closed door, Ser..do you know, I don't think you've mentioned your name. You've asked for mine. Twice. And you said you worked with Ser Farrell but nothing of you." Neatly pointed out. "And I really hate that phrase, 'whatever you wish', it's like Farrell's, 'You go, I follow.' You do /have/ a personality, don't you? I'm not going to bite if we have a difference of opinion," she grumped. "But for the other, keep them quiet. That's all I ask. You're men. I don't expect you to be chaste. I just expect that they don't become public knowledge because your reputation, now affects mine. Is that agreeable to you?"
Lorcan chews his tongue, eying her closely. His eyes continuously dip to stare at her bosom. "Lorcan," he finally answers. "I fought against Farrell, long ago. We knocked each other out and grew to be friends afterwards. If you don't like me usin' that phrase, I shan't. I have a personality, 'course! And yes, I don't go spreadin' rumors like the girls at the taverns. S'agreeable." For a moment, he pauses to cradle his cheek, wincing a mite as he rubs his jaw. "I wouldn't mind a drink."
Either oblivious, or on purpose, Aeliana doesn't seem to notice or remark on Lorcan's wandering eyes. If anything, it's a compliment…right? "You..fought against him?" The thought makes her grin, "I should like to hear how the fight came about one day, if you're of a mind to share it. And no, I don't mind you using the phrase. I've tried to tell Ser Farrell he can speak freely when we're not in company but alas, he doesn't listen. They," Aeliana tipped her head towards the ladies, "Would say that I don't either. So drinks we'll have. Shall we?" An lookit that, she offered her arm; even if her gaze had narrowed off towards his jaw when he winced. "Are you injured?"
"Maybe you ought to try and ask Farrell how it came about," Lorcan suggests, grinning as he kneads his cheek. It's clear he's trying rather hard to slow his speech enough for proper enunciation. "He'll open up after you get to know him. Oh, naw… Mistress Dania pulled a tooth for me a while ago, gums act up sometimes." Peering cautiously at the handmaidens, he takes her arm and allows her to lead the way.
"Ser Farrell does not talk," Aeliana frowns at the thought. "Unless it's to say that he does his job. Which is quite nice, really but for the life of me it feels an awful lot like having my Uncle quietly frowning at me all the time. I could give you something for your jaw, if you wanted? I hate the thought of someone being in pain." …someone she likes, at any rate. "The inn, then?" Because that's the way she's going to lead him unless he objects.
Lorcan shakes his head gruffly. "Naw, m'Lady, I'll be all right. Ask me again when I bite into something and yelp. And I'ma' hafta' step in to defend poor Farrell here - he's just tryin' ta' make a good impression, see. It's all about appearances. There's a lot more to him if ya' give him the time of day. But we're hedge knights. Or, we were. We're used ta' /tryin'/ ta' be useful. And th' inn, sure. So long as your handmaidens are about."
"So I shall," Aeliana replies with a little nod, "Though I suspect I'll never find the right time of day. It's like fishing, I imagine. Uncle Keegan always said that I could never catch anything because I couldn't hold my mouth right," she shook her with the memory; leading their steps easily from the stables proper and out into the court yard. "Mystical and mythical and never to be witnessed by the eyes of man, or…in this case, woman. Though I understand all about appearances, Ser Lorcan. Of that you may rest assured. My handmaidens are always with me. As are my guards, if I go out. After all, my reputation is the only thing I have to trade on." Gods help the one who tries to ruin it. "You'll find it's not something I'm keen to lose."