Page 141: Masked Ball at Stonebridge
Masked Ball at Stonebridge
Summary: What the title says
Date: 03/Dec/288
Related Logs: None - yet?
dragonlady fairy fawn harlequin iceprincess lion oldsepton peacock sea siren sun 
Town Square, Stonbridge
The surrounding terrain has several small gullies and streams that feed into the waterfront area just adjacent to the town square, the sails of the boats visible over the tops of the buildings. The square is floored in the same heavy stone that the east docks and castle are constructed of while the buildings are a mix of the stone, wood, and mortar. There are quite a few fish vendors with their fragrant catches for sale among groups of tables which tend to be busy most of the time.


Just short of five and a half feet tall, slender and graceful, this young woman is apparently a Siren. Fair hair is left down, twisted and curled until it looks tangled by the sea, with pearls and sparkling stones scattered through the locks like a lost treasure. Her mask is a simple domino, though it's been painted with shades of blue and green like the sea, matching the eyes behind them.

Her dress could be any young lady's, silk and pale blue-green, though it looks to have weathered a storm. The sleeves are gone, and the skirts are tattered. Silvery paint marks a pattern like fish scales on her arms and even her legs, and pieces of net like a fisherman's are artfully attached to the gown. Her feet are bare, as though she's just climbed from the surf.

Someone in a mask, as all are. Probably a man from the build, about six feet tall and fairly thin. His mask is of the sun in its full brightness, wood painted a rich golden-bronze. Small beams painted gold and red are attached all around the outer frame. The 'face' is frozen in an austere expression that clashes a little with the warm blue eyes visible inside the deep eye cutouts.

The rest of the costume is fairly plain: a set of black common shirt and pants under a black-and-gold robe, the hood pushed back on the wearer's shoulders.

This tall, well-built man wears a fairly common sort of costume, dressed in dark trousers, tunic, and vest. His mask is that of a harlequin, black and white diamonds alternating, painted onto a cloth mask secured about his head with well-tied strings. A dark cloak completes the costume, hood pulled up to obscure his hair, though occasional glimpses suggest it is probably dark.

A figure wrapped up in the robes of a minor Septon, wearing a satchel on their side. Rugged sandals cover their feet, and bandages about their hands and wrists. They are old enough that they walk with a slight bent, and require the assistance of their wooden walking stick to make much distance at all.


Tall, slender, a graceful figure of a woman dressed in an iridescent gown. Her smooth shoulders and beautifully defined clavicles are dusted with shimmering glitter, as is the elaborate upsweep of her dark, curling hair. Her identity is obscured by a butterfly mask, revealing only a well-defined chin; full, softly rouged lips; and a pair of large, dark eyes.


Standing before you is a man that is about six feet tall. He has the build of a fighter though not overly bulky, more like toned athletic strength. He sports shortly cut brown hair and has a pair of green eyes. His well-defined jaw usually sports a some unshaven stubble and he has a short, thin scar running down his right cheek.
The man is currently clothed for more casual affairs, sporting a dark grey tunic that is belted at the waist, which is worn over a pair of dark trousers. The trousers are tucked into a pair of worn but durable leather boots, kept in good condition. The man also has a sword secured and sheathed at his side though there is no colors signifying that he belongs to a particular house.
For tonight's occassion, he is sporting a mask that covers the middle to upper portion of his face as well as the cheek. The mask is a decent effort of portraying a lion's face, including some whiskers and the mane.

Here a short female form that has been transformed into a fawn. The costume is tailored of deerskin, form fitted tight breeches and a torso hugging, long sleeved jacket with a V-shaped neckline and buttons fastening the front. Attached to the neck of the tunic is a large hood meant to conceal the true color of this creature's hair while also allowing her to add the placement of a pair of ears, coated in soft fur. Two parallel trails of white begin as solid lines behind the neck as painted white spots freckle the young fawn's back until reaching the tip of her fur coated tail. Her hooves are represented by black moleskin gloves and boots. In added mystery to this creature's persona is a mask that captures the replica of a fawn's features; a black nose and eye holes cut out which only allow one to see the true color of this fawn's eyes since the skin surrounding the occipital orbs has been smeared with black powder.

Blues and greens cover this figure, from an emerald cloak and hood over a cream shirt with a dark blue vest and a pair of matching blue trousers. The man's mask is styled to look like it's made of a peacock's feathers, and blue eyes peer out from the openings. He is neither tall nor short, and the cloak conceals the cut of him, while the raised hood hides the color of his hair. The back of the cloak, from mid-back, down, has also been painted to resemble peacock feathers, fanned out like some wide, drooping tail.

White as the snow in the north, a glittery mask obscures this lady's face, secured in her thin dark braids that are pinned with large, open white flowers. The rest of her hair is loosed in a tumble of dark curls, stark against the pale colour of her skin and her costume. Her dress is matching white silk; loose on her tiny frame in folds and tucks, belted high on her waist with a chain of gold. Delicate white slippers are dirty on the bottom, not that the princess cares; her feet are protected, and they're embroidered with little beads in a tribute to luxury.


On this night of revelry, the town square of Stonebridge has been cleared away of hawkers' carts and fishmongers' stands. The expanse of stone has instead been given over to tables and chairs around the perimeter (and behind them, standing torches to provide illumination as the night darkens) with the main of the space left open for dancing. A simple wooden dais has been constructed, and there musicians perch, singing and strumming for the merriment of the crowd. Smallfolk and noble alike will mingle this evening, and outfits and masks vary from the most basic mask quickly put on above work-a-day clothes to ornate and elaborate costumes that required care and coin for their intricate construction. Where the fish vendors usually sell their wares, rather more pleasant and fragrant food and drink are now available for those revelers who would fill their bellies as well as stomp their feet.
Fairy arrives from the East Walk.
Fairy has arrived.

Fawn has become one with the dancers, knees lifting in a high spirited dance as she pranced along with the rhythm's flow. Partners exchanged, laughter and merriment ensued. Not a single care was given when a new dance partner had popped up out of nowhere. Fawn's muffled laughter was raised to the skies as the two jolly galloped, paw and hoof, through the dancing crowd.

White slippers make light-as-air steps as the Ice Princess waves her way through the dancing crowd, shadowed by a leaf-masked brunette girl with a wreath in her hair and a tall, hood-cloaked hangman. The little party stop every so often to fend off invitations to dance. Food is on the agenda, or perhaps drink, if the direction they're migrating in is any indication.

A figure in blues and greens keeps, for the moment, along the edges, closer to the tables and the food than the dancing in the center. The peacock observes the merriment with a faint smile, one booted foot tapping idly to the music, though that's all the dancing he engages in, just now.

Gossamer-winged Fairy arrives unaccompanied, wandering barefoot, taking in the scene. She leaps up onto a bench, traveling around the square from bench to fountain to the top of a post, her balance playful and uncanny. She seems to have taken the randomness of fey nature to heart, and is somewhat absently making her own fun.

Having arrived with a merchant earlier in the day, the Lion was not expecting some sort of festival being held in the center of town so he was pleasantly surprised. Not having the time or excess coin to purchase himself a full fledged costume, the Lion joins the event with only a mask obscuring his face. For now, the lion is just quietly surveying the scene, though either purposely or by happenstance, his feet carries him towards the area where the food and drinks are being served.

On this night of revelry, the town square of Stonebridge has been cleared away of hawkers' carts and fishmongers' stands. The expanse of stone has instead been given over to tables and chairs around the perimeter (and behind them, standing torches to provide illumination as the night darkens) with the main of the space left open for dancing. A simple wooden dais has been constructed, and there musicians perch, singing and strumming for the merriment of the crowd. Smallfolk and noble alike will mingle this evening, and outfits and masks vary from the most basic mask quickly put on above work-a-day clothes to ornate and elaborate costumes that required care and coin for their intricate construction. Where the fish vendors usually sell their wares, rather more pleasant and fragrant food and drink are now available for those revelers who would fill their bellies as well as stomp their feet.

The hangman is waylaid for a moment by a lithe little bird, leaving the Ice Princess and her child-of-the-forest companion to wend their way through the crowd to find a drink. "Oh, look!" The shorter of the two exclaims, clad all in white and gold, as she points to the barefoot Fairy.

The peacock's eyes are caught, briefly, by the gossamer fairy as she hops up onto benches and fountains, moving about the space like her namesake, and his faint smile curls a little higher. He steps away from the table where he stands to move towards the food and so, also, closer to the Ice Princess and her small entourage, as well as the approaching Lion who seems to have the same idea. "You've traveled a far way to join us, here," he says to the icy maiden as he finds himself in her vicinity, "All the way from the north, I wager, or did you creep over the very Wall?"

The Dowager Lady Rebekkah Nayland has not really bothered to 'disguise' herself. Ostentation is rather the point of her 'costume.' She is dressed in bright red robes sewn to resembles 'scales', with 'wings' on the shoulders and a large head-dress of crimson dragon's head, with cruelly pointed teeth that look as if they are genuine metal jaws. She is also being carried on a red-cushioned palanquin, on the shoulders of four Nayland servants, while she sips a cup of…something. She seems to be enjoying it, whatever it is, as she eyes the revelry with a sharp, rather disdainful eye.

The Fairy preens for the attention, as all fair folk are known to be vain creatures, and curves a winsome little smile, spinning on the ball of one foot and rolling her shoulders so her gossamer wings flutter. Part pixie, all ham.

Even the sun stay up late to catch this party — or at least someone who's borrowed some of the Sun's color. Someone wearing a mask of the fiery star is here on the edge of the crowd, hands buried in a pair of long sleeves. The long robe barely covers a pair of scuffed and clearly very common boots.

The Fawn was spun uncontrollably, stumbling on her footing until she was driven out of the dancer's crowd. A hand raised, catching the nearby structure of a wall and thankfully nothing else was in her path. She and the masked bear had erupted into laughter, "I would say that is my last spin, at least for now." Her voice muffled, though spoken loud enough through the mask. The Bear preformed an awkward bow before returning to the group of dancers as the Fawn made a few adjustments to her mask in order to see the gathering about her. Movement carried her to a nearby display table fitted with a wide selection of foods and drinks. After all that vigorous dancing she deserved one or two pints.

Perhaps he or she has come to watch the revelry and shake their head in disbelief, in the way that only a Septon could disapprove of revelry other men and women would call glorious. The figure leans heavy on their walking staff, two hands curled about the rough-hewn wood of the thing as they slowly graze the periphery of the celebration, hood quite drawn over their features.

Siren may arrive late, but she does so in style, with an attendant crew of mermen bearing tridents following after her. Her smile is bright, and her laughter clear and carrying at something a particular red-headed merman has said. Perhaps it isn't the legendary song of a Siren, but it's enough to draw a few glances from the periphery of the crowd.

The prancing Fairy also catches the Lion's attention for a moment before the smell of the drinks and food lures the kingly beast's attention away. Grabbing a cup of what is most likely ale, the lion takes a long drink before eyeing the other costumed revellers who approaches. Giving a respectful nod of greeting to the Peacock, he also glances to the Ice Princess and seems to be in full agreement with the feathered bird, "Indeed, that is quite a costume, hopefully the Night's Watch wasn't lulled into a false sense of security and let the Lady pass. Else we all be in great trouble." He says in good humor before bringing his ale to his lips for another sip.

Sun fiddles with the edge of the mask, one eye squinting partly shut as wood scrapes against the skin under it. His hands vanish back into his sleeves and he abandons his spot planted on the grass, starting to walk in an idle half-circle around the gathering. Catching glimpses of eyes that may or may not be familiar.

"All the way from the north," agrees the princess silky-smoothly, her attention stolen from the pretty, preening Fairy by the Peacock. Her companion secures drinks for them, some spiced wine, whilst the maind-in-white indulges in conversation. "But not from beyond the icy Wall, no. What chance does one fair maid stand against all those fierce men in black?"

"Maids can be very clever," the Peacock says, "even here in the warm Riverlands. I must imagine those maids who rule icy kingdoms more clever still. But I suppose, if you had slipped through the wall," he lifts a hand to tap the side of his nose or, rather, his mask where it covers the side of his nose, "it might be best not to confess it."

Fairies, as it's well-known, are partial to sparkling wine and sweets. This one is no exception. She flit-hops from perch to perch, sullying her feet on the ground only when she must. She pauses in passing the small group around the Ice Princess to blow a kiss — which puffs a small pile of silver glitter from her hand, showering the Peacock and Lion, Princess and her retinue. Then it's off to catch a flute of the bubbly stuff.

"Put me down there," the Dragon Queen instructs those bearing her palanquin imperiously, gesturing to a place in the midst of the crowd. Not in the way of the dancing, but people will be forced to walk around her. Whether she intends to participate in the festivities or just eye them narrowly is unclear. She drains the whatever-it-is she's drinking, and gestures to one of the four servants who flank her. "Fetch me a glass of wine. I'm bored already."

"You might all hide behind masks," mutters the bent-backed Septon to themselves, though the words surely do travel. "But the Seven still seeeee you! You cannot hide from the eyes of the Gods, they see all your flaws, all your guilt…" The hooded figure shakes their head and continues their slow circuit of the square.

Siren picks her steps carefully across the square, bare feet cautious of things that perhaps shouldn't be on the ground. Two of her merman escorts stay with her, while the other two spread out to enjoy the party themselves. "We'll have to dance," she informs the pair with her. "Otherwise it's a wasted trip, for certain." As she skirts around the Dragon Queen's palanquin, she peers curiously at the woman. "That's a beautiful costume, my lady," she calls over with an easy smile.

The Sun glances to his left as the mumbling words of the Old Septon reach gold-flecked ears, and deep in the mask's eyeholes the two human eyes within seem to crease for a second — who knew a celestial body had a sense of humor. He clears his throat quietly and uncovers his hands, as if realizing how awkwardly he was standing.

Harlequin meanders through the crowd, hardly an eye-catching sight in dark colors and a simple mask. He heads past the Dragon Lady's luxurious perch, following one of her servants toward the wine, where he colelcts a goblet for himself. Then it is further into the ever-growing crowd of revelers, looking about at costumes as he passes.

The Dragon Lady smiles at the passing Siren. She's an almost sweet-faced old great-grandmother under the dragon headdress, complete with its jaws that will cut at the touch. Though there's nothing particularly warm or sweet about her beady blue eyes. "I am history, my child. And I am old ways long and tragically forgotten. It occurred to me that the young were sorely in need of an education on what was lost. What do you know of dragons, little water nymph?"

"These lands are warm, and green," says the Ice Princess, her lips curving a slow and indulgent smile for the Peacock's humour. "Not as easy for an ice maiden to go undetected where there's no white blanket of snow." She looks about to say something else as she accepts her glass of wine, but the Fairy's kiss and puff of glitter interrupt and draw instead a delighted, "Oh!"

A smirk appears on the Lion's lips which is unbscured from the mask as he shrugs his shoulders slightly, "From what I hear, a Princess in white may stand a very good chance with those… fierce men in black. Once pledged to the black, they are also pledging celibacy, so if a beautiful maiden appears in front of them, they are more likely to drop their blades than draw them." The lion ends sounding rather sure of himself as he takes another drink from his cup of ale as he continues in the conversation with the Peacock and the Ice Princess.

One of the mermen steps away to acquire drinks for the watery trio, while the Siren lingers near the Dragon. "What does the sea know of the sky, my lady? Dragons are change, but the sea is ever unchanging. It waits, and it watches, and it ebbs and it flows, but it's never truly gone." She tips her head, smile slipping to one corner of her lips. "I've heard the dragons are gone. But men still sink to watery graves."

The peacock laughs as his greens and blues get a scattering of silver from the flitting fairy. "Spry thing, isn't she," he murmurs as she darts off again. Glancing back to the Ice Princess and the Lion he says, "Well, now you've a bit more color, though silver can belong to snow as much as rivers." He smiles a little wider at the Lion's words and overs a small nod. "That would be one foe they've not much practice in confronting, I'd wager."

"The dragons were glory, and glory is, I think, gone from the lands," replies the Dragon Queen with an ancient sort of sadness. "And the young too foolish to weep for it, and too short-sighted to remember. But your poetry is pretty, sea nymph. Here is a copper for the moment of entertainment you have provided me." And she reaches into the folds of her scale robes and flicks said copper at the Siren. "Can you sing as beguilingly as the unchanging sea? If you can manage a tune that pleases this old, near-dead dragon, it shall be worth a silver piece." One of her attendants brings her wine, in the meantime. She sips of it.

The Septon clucks their tongue at the look from the Sun, shaking their head an muttering some words directed nowhere in particular, and least of all at the Sun itself. "Bright and shiny that one thinks they are, but nothing shines so bright as that what is made with the Smith's might." Still, the Septon continues a slow circuit, halting but once to point out the Ice Princess. "Vain! Oh, so vain a creature, what could be more beautiful than the Maiden Herself?" Another cluck, another shake of a hooded head.

Siren's lips curve at the gift of the coin, amusement flickering in her eyes. "A coin from a dragon's hoard," she muses, tucking it away in a fold of one of her nets. "A lucky token, that. Though I fear I've not the voice of my sisters. If I did, I'd have no need to come to dry land for such a celebration as this. Instead, I'd simply sing out, and the strains of my song would draw dancers and revelers for leagues around. Still, my lady, I'm happy to sing if it brings you pleasure. Have you a request, my lady?"

The Fairy dances over behind the Septon, handing off her already empty glass to a passing servant. She mutely adopts the Septon's condemning pose and an expression of outrage, shaking her finger at the Ice Princess. SHAME! Elaborately silly SHAME!

Fawn takes on the challenge in stuffing torn morsels of food between she and the wooden mask. It takes a few tries for her to successfully slip pieces into her mouth without having them fall in crumbles. Her amusement had been concealed thus far, though when the Fairy shadowed Septon's gesture the Fawn erupted into laughter.

"Look at the way she leaps," marvels the princess, her dark gaze following after the sprightly fairy. "Perhaps hers is not even a costume." She imbibes a sip from her cup, but struck by the strong taste of the liquid inside, offers it instead out to the Peacock. The Septon, and as the Fairy joins him too, draw a bright laugh from she, and she shakes her head.

"Sing me a song of the unchanging sea from which you come," Rebekkah says, smiling when the Siren ascents to her demand for entertainment. She stretches luxuriously out in her palanquin. "And in return I shall tell you of how I, the Valyrian dragon, brought glory and change to Westeros with my brother and sister, wrought in fire. For while the sea is unchanging, all transformation is forged in flame."

The Lion's attention is also turned to the Old Septon who speaks, only to see that the Fairy has pranced her way behind the man mimicking away which also causes him to laugh in amusement before he is able to catch himself, trying to turn the laugh into an innocent cough which he quickly hides behind the cup of ale, taking another drink beore turning his gaze at the table of food and drinks once more.

"Then I suppose you must be the Father?" the peacock calls cheerfully towards the irritable old septon, "to be handing down judgements left and right? Come old fellow, join us in a little drink and food. Perhaps it will lift those soured spirits of yours." The drink, discarded by the Ice Princess is accepted, though only cradled in his hands, and not yet drunk. His eyes again go towards the fairy, mouth tipping upwards into a smile. "A wild, mad little creature," he agrees warmly, "perhaps it's not."

"Ah, you see it too!" the Septon declares, head spinning to catch the Fairy with their mocking gestures. "How can such a creature as she be so vain?! Vain?! It is an affront to the Gods, they mu-" The Septon falls quiet for a moment, hands curling about their walking stick. "But yoooou. You must love those Gods called old. Trees and sticks and mud."

"That's quite a trade, my lady," the Siren agrees with Rebekkah, pausing as her merman brings back a glass of wine. "A tale for a tale, then." And she does sing. She's no great talent, nothing to draw sailors to their rocky, watery deaths. But she has a sweet voice, the sort for singing softly to loved ones, and she uses it well. The song she sings is one of loss, of the sea's theft of fathers and sons, and one as old as the coasts. And when she is done, she turns toward the sea, gaze drawn like iron to a lodestone.

The Fairy blinks mildly at the Septon, adopting an attitude of wide-eyed innocence — then blows a puff of glitter at him, spins about to shake her derriere, and flits off.
DragonLady has reconnected.
DragonLady has partially disconnected.

"Your song is sad," the Dragon Lady says somberly, and yet there's approval in her tone as well. Again, she reaches into her pockets, and this time she does pluck out a silver piece. It, like the copper, is flicked at the beguiling water creature. "But I prefer sad songs to pretty ones. They lie less. As for me, I am the dragon Vhagar, ridden by Visenya Targaryen, and my fires brought your Westeros to its knees, along with those of my brother Balerion and sister Meraxes. And when the fires cooled, the Seven Kingdoms were forged into one, and these Riverlands were freed from the tyranny of Iron pirates. Freed from shackles by fire to be their own masters, rather than the slaves of sea-faring wretches. Enough fire shall boil the seas, my enchanting water sprite. Do not forget that. Enough fire can change anything, even that which is said to be unchangeable."

The Princess levels a momentarily cold look at the Septon, before dissolving into another round of giggles at the pretty Fairy's antics. More glitter! How entertaining! Now without a drink, she sends a look about the crowd for something to do.

Siren catches the coin, tucking it away into her nets like the other one, though she listens to the Dragon Queen's tale attentively. "Fire and blood," she replies, a faint smile touching her features. "Though both in their own measure and by their own power. Fire is a powerful weapon…but ultimately it can no more be controlled than the sea. And fire uncontrolled is a dangerous thing." She takes a sip from her drink, watching the woman with a small smile. "Dangerous indeed."

There is dancing, of course, and music. The peacock studies his wintery companion, and if he glances again toward the darting fairy, he offers, to the woman by his side, "Might you honor me with a dance, fair princess?"

"Dangerous, indeed. But no more than a storm, which wrecks poor sailors to their ends," the Dragon Queen says. Then, she clicks her tongue at her attendants. It's some sort of signal to lift her palanquin apparently, for they do. "Well. It is a clear night, and not one to be wrecked by either water or fire. Enjoy the silver piece. You've earned it, more or less." And with that, she's carried off. Perhaps to find other party-goers to bother, before disappearing for the night back to her darkened lair.

Siren watches the Dragon Queen depart, a faint smile lingering on her lips. And then, once the woman is well out of hearing range, she turns to her escort and starts to giggle. Because, you know. Being mysterious is cool and all, but that lady totally paid her /and/ it's a party!

The Princess's gaze returns to her Peacock companion at his request, and she favours him with a merry smile, glad for the distraction. "I'd be most happy to, my feathered friend!" Out goes her hand, offered for him to lead the way.

The Septon quite sneezes at the glitter tossed it's way, batting a hand uselessly at the stuff. "Help! Help! This creature's attacked me! Warrior save me! Stranger take you!" The figure waves the walking stick, but there's no real threat to it, either play or the futility of a long-degraded body.

Harlequin stays well-wide of the glitter cloud that still hangs for a moment in the air, making his way past Fairy and Septon towards Peacock, Lion, and Ice Princess. He must overhear as he approaches, because he reaches out a hand towards the jewel-plumed man and white-clad woman, suggesting, "Before you do, I'd like to put in my claim for the next dance, if the lady will be so kind."

Draining the rest of the ale in his cup, the Lion laughs again as the Septon is showered with pixie dust before shaking a head at the old man's call for assistance, even though he knows it is in jest, "I don't think anyone would take on that mystical creature, who knows what other forms of trickery she may have up her sleeve." Maybe the Fairy even has the ability to turn people into toads.

Fawn contributes while folding an arm across the chest, "I heard that if you capture a fairy it is obligated to grant you a wish."

The peacock offers his arm to the Ice Princess, his other hand still holding the drink she disliked. There's a nod as the Harlequin appears and makes his request. As they pass by the sneezing and cursing septon, the glass is held out in offering to him, instead. "You need this more than I do," he says with a smile before leading his snow white lady onto the dance floor. "You'll have to forgive my missteps. We birds aren't always gifted in dance."

Hearing that she is rightly respected for her power, Fairy executes an elaborately flourished and theatrical bow to the Lion. It is truly rare to be appreciated as the fearsome thing she is. Septon's flails and wails make her laugh — silently, an elaborate pantomime of laughter that, nonetheless, is easily mirthful as laughter ever was. Grinning widely, she flit-stalks the Septon, darting in and back and around him like a harrowing starling.

Dancing? As if summoned by the word, the Siren shows up near the Harlequin, an easy smile finding her features. "Would you care to dance, good ser?" she asks, sketching a graceful curtsey despite her tattered skirts. "I assure you, we're much too far from the sea to drown."

"Of course," the Princess returns to Harlequin, looking him over curiously. Ah, but swiftly she claims the spot on Peacock's arm, led past the Septon and his pretty stalker, out onto the dancefloor. "I'll forgive any step out of turn," she jokes, "Unless you trample my toes. Toe-trampling is a grave offense beyond the Wall, you see."

The Septon growls and grumbles to no one in particular, taking the drink nigh-pressed into its hands. "Would that the Gods would take me into their loving arms!" They declare, before imbibing all of the drink in one fell swoop. Their pace is slow, deliberate, and halts all of a sudden as the Fairy flits about, spinning to thrust out the empty cup as it it were some ward that would keep the creature back. "Away, I say! Back to your Godtree or whatever it is you heathen things come from! This is not the North, you terrible thing!"

"I wouldn't dare," the Peacock promises, "you'd freeze my toes right off if I did." He rests one hand lightly against the ice maiden's waist, the other claiming her hand, and if he is no maester of dance, the feathered fellow can at least manage the basics well enough.
Fawn has disconnected.

Fairy beams a winning smile at the Septon before spinning away like an iridescent top — then stopping suddenly, doing an broad, theatrical stumble-flail with pinwheeling arms. Fairies are not, it seems, immune to vertigo. She clears her throat, straightens her wings and shoulders, and makes her way back to the champagne with an excess of dignity.

Harlequin turns to regard the Siren as she calls, head inclined in acknowledgement, greeting, and agreement at once. "You are bold to ask, but I suppose the sea is not one to do as men bid," he remarks, offering a hand, "As you like, lady."

Siren smiles swiftly to the Harlequin, reaching out to take the offered hand. "It's a siren's task to draw men to places they might not otherwise go," she declares, a spark of humor in her eyes behind the mask. "And I think perhaps my mermen guardians are too intimidating for most of the crowd," she adds conspiratorially. "So if I wish to dance, I simply must make certain to find someone to do it."

The Septon makes a 'fahing' sort of sound, and waves his hand dismissively as the Fairy spins away from him. It is a he, now? Yes, it would seem, when the Septon remarks, "It's too bad, surely, for an old Septon almost forgets the company of a comely lass. Fah, almost forgets what comely is, to think such! Mother forgive me!"

Ice Princess, satisfied with the Peacock's promise, settles a hand on his shoulder and allows him her other, ready to be whirled about the dancefloor in a flurry of white and green. Well. Nothing quite so elaborate as that, actually, for she's no dancing queen, but she manages the basics along with her partner. "It seems I won't have need of freezing off your toes after all," she says with a smile.

Fairy arches one eyebrow nice and high at the Septon as she drains her sparkling wine in a few long swallows. She belches, then looks innocently at the sky. Ethereal beings don't belch, so that was obviously not she. Move along.

"I'm as relieved as you are," the peacock assures, daring at least one twirl as the music flows and they weave between other masked and mysterious pairings. "Very fond of my toes. So, what lured you here from the icy north? A night of dancing or something more nefarious?"

The Sea is here in all Her mighty glory, skirts a flowing mass of light blues and teals, dark navy interspersed with seafoam green. Pearls drip from her neck, long strands falling in layers and seashells swept through the dark mass of curls that spill over her shoulder, mussed by the ocean breeze. Her mask is made of the same shells, making features unrecognizable except for the dark brewing storm of her gaze. She slips through the crowd, watching others.

Harlequin nods to the Siren, agreeing, "So it is. Do you lead me to my doom, then? Am I to be crushed on the dancefloor?" He steps into the crowd without hesitation or fear, even so, offering a hand so that they might begin to move with the music and the others.

"I certainly hope not," the Siren says indignantly. And indeed, when she steps onto the dance floor, she seems to float through the steps, graceful and light on her bare feet. "Besides, you promised a dance later, so it would be terribly rude of me to crush you before you had a chance to fulfill your promise," she adds with a swift smile. "Creatures such as sirens are bound by oaths, you know. It's one of the only ways to trap them."

The princess laughs as they twirl, instinctively clasping the peacock's hand a little tighter. "Ah," she says with a little shake of her head amidst some of the more sedate steps, "But it isn't yet midnight, is it? Who are you to steal my secrets before the clock strikes?"

"Ah! Breaking the rules, I see! The Father will have none a that!" the Septon calls at the Ice Princess' dance partner, shaking his empty cup and the pair. "You'll see, you will! He's stern, with good reason!" The Septon's walking staff thuds upon the ground. "You'll all see!"

"It would be very rude indeed," the Harlequin replies, "But I have never heard of Sirens being considerate creatures. Is that so?" he says of her last, "I had not heard they stood by oaths. Good to know." He too is light on his feet, and possessed of natural grace of movement but is only a competent dancer, more talent than practice. "And your mermen?" he inquires, "I have heard fearsome tales of their kind, too."

"Mmm, I am duly chastisted. Forgiven me, princess, and keep your wintry secrets. At least until midnight, and then, if you're still here, you'll be obliged to share one," the peacock answers, ducking his head a little for the septon's scolding. "The danger of these warmer climes." He steps to the side, leading his dance partner over a step as another pair of dancers, one sporting a pig's snout and the other a dog's head, whisk past.

"They shall obey my orders," the Siren answers the Harlequin archly, her chin rising to an arrogant cast. It's swiftly ruined by her smile, a mischievous thing well in keeping with the evening. "You see, my merman guards are the souls of the bravest sailors ever drawn to the rocky shores by my sisters and I. They sank with their ships, but we were so touched by their bravery and dedication that we begged the spirits of the sea to let them live beneath the waters with us. And so you see them now."

Looking nothing short of impish, Fairy watches the Old Septon strike the ground with his staff and rant. She darts her way through the crowds, circling behind him… oh. So. Sneaky. Big, broad tiptoe steps. Then, in a cloud of sparkles dislodged by her sudden darting, she nips in front of the old curmudgeon and steals a kiss from inside his hood. MUAH!

"What are you doing, you good for nothing, heath-" The Septon is not completely ignorant to the clandestine movements of the Fairy, though he seems to sputter out in shock when she sneaks beneath his hood and puts a kiss on him. "What! What are you doing, get away you… you…" He stumbles back a step, clinging to his walking stick. "My breath! It's stolen! You… lovely creature you! Have you enchanted me?! You've enchanted me! By the Seven, you'll… thank you, creature!"

"I think that Septon is following us," the princess says, taking advantage of the sidestep to lean a little closer to the peacock and pitch her voice lower. Just as quickly, she leans back with another giggle, prompted by that wily Fairy's antics again, no less. "Perhaps I come from the North only to be entertained by your summer sprites and scorn your spicy drinks. And enjoy, of course, a dance with a handsome bird?"

Fairy puts her hands over her mouth, shaking with silent laughter. The thanks, though, gets her attention. She looks confused, and then slightly vexed. Thanks clearly was not what she was after.

"That was kind of you, lady," says the Harlequin, "I am sure they are grateful, to have been spared their fates and given second life in service to one such as yourself. I don't suppose your ranks are full?" he asks, "That you might stop calling new candidates to your dire interviews?"

Siren executes a graceful spin-step, tilting her head in question to the Harlequin once she faces him again. "Why do you ask?" she replies, grin flashing once more. "Were you hoping to apply?" She looks him up and down carefully, never missing a step in the process. "I suppose we could provide you with an interview. You seem to have the proper build, and with a little bit of tweaking…"

"We must be very sinful," the peacock murmurs, glancing towards the fairy-kissed septon. "Well, if that was your aim, I cannot protest. it's not every bird that might brag he danced with a beautiful ice maiden." The current song comes to a close, fading gracefully into another, and the peacock smiles. "Thank you for the dance, princess." Leading her away from the crush on the dancefloor, he bows over her hand and brushes a kiss to the ice princess's knuckles.

All this frolicking seems little to appeal to the steady calm of the Sea, her skirts swirling gracefully around her as she keeps a steady ebb and flow through the crowd with a watchful eye. At some point she gathers a drink, bony fingers clutching it hard in the press of people. Her gaze narrows at the kiss the peacock gives to the princess, but only a slight tip of her chin shows that she may recognize the woman in the other costume.

"I…" the Septon seems uncertain beneath the hood, casting a glance out to the others, the ice princess and her feathered companion, the sea-shelled sea itself, "I…" He finally spins back upon the Fairy and declares, "What have these Gods ever done for me! I am yours, creature of the Old! I will tell all of your marvels and your beauty!" He drops the cup unceremoniously and touches some of the glitter on his robe, put there by that same Fairy. "More of this! Yes! For everyone!"

Fairy stares at the converted Septon with very. Big. Eyes. And then looks slowly around, as though for assistance. She clearly has no idea what to do with her new-made prophet, so grabs something stronger than wine from the drinks table and presses it into his hands, patting his back with a flutter. There, there. Help?

Harlequin chuckles and shakes his head, mask remaining securely in place. "I think you flatter me, lady, but no," he returns, "I asked in hopes that I might gain some insight into how safe sea travel is, at present. Whether I could hazard it without concern for a siren's call, or not. But I will keep your offer in mind," he says, "Should I find myself in need to employment." Her spin is taken in stride, and he moves gradually to a stop as the music ends, and then springs rapidly up into something else. He leads the Siren off the floor, giving a short bow over her hand. "Thank you for the dance, lady, it was very informative," he says with amusement in his tone.

"Perhaps we are," the princess agrees quietly, craftily. A few more steps and the music changes, and she allows the peacock to lead her from the dancefloor. "No," she corrects him gently, as he favours her hand with his kiss, "Thank you, my magnetic summer creature. Though I seem to have lost my child of the forest…" It's the look she darts around for said child that brings the Sea into her line of sight, who begs a small, admiring smile return.

"And thank you, good ser," the Siren curtseys gracefully to the Harlequin. "Should you ever need a home in the watery halls beneath the sea, you know who to call upon." Her smile flashes with a laugh. "And now, I believe you owed a dance to another." She releases his hand with the gentlest nudge in the Ice Princess' direction, moving to rejoin her merman guard and reclaim her glass of wine, still in high spirits.

The peacock offers the ice maiden another smile for her sweet words, and he lingers long enough to be sure she won't be left without a companion when he departs. But as she spies the sea herself, and as her harlequined man is nudged in her direction, the brightly-colored bird moves towards the converted septon and his bewildered, fae companion. It's she he steps up behind. "You don't know your own strength on us mere mortals," he laughs. "And now you've bewitched this poor fellow, what will you do with him?"

Fairy grimaces and evinces an elaborate shrug that sets her wings aflutter. What a pickle! She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes at the Peacock, apparently all open to ideas.

"Ah! So kind! The Fairy! She is so kind!" the converted Septon calls out to the gathering, as he takes the stiffer drink offered him, and slowly imbibes it. "Oh, the most kind!" It seems the peacock's presence is a bit of a surprise to him, though, and he does give something of a menacing gesture with his walking stick. "You'll not catch her, you won't! The Warrio-" He pauses, and looks over at the Fairy. "What do you call your warrior tree god, anyways?"

"I will certainly keep that in mind, should I ever desire scales and fins," the Harlequin tells the Siren. He gives her a polite nod, replying, "So I do," and adding, "A good evening to you, lady," before heading over towards the Ice Princess.

"He certainly speaks well," the peacock says, peering at the septon, "And that kiss of yours has quite tamed him. Don't suppose you've ever considered starting up a new religion?" He glances from the fairy and back to the septon, blue eyes widening a bit behind the mask for the enfeebled man's proclamations. "I won't? But I could use the wish…"

The Ice Princess spends a moment watching after the Sea, before curtsying invitingly as the harlequined man approaches her. "I believe I owe you a dance, ser," says she, offering him her hand.

Oh, look! It's protecting her! Fairy actually looks sort of melty and charmed by the Septon's actions. Then — wait. What's this about catching and wishes? She starts and mouthing a silent EEP! darts off. Run away, run away!

Siren giggles to herself as she watches the Fairy run past, raising her glass in a cheerful sort of salute. "Fairies," she says solemnly to her merman guard. "You really can't talk about tying them down. Puts them all into a tizzy."
Fawn has left.

The Lion had apparently disappeared into the crowd with a new cup of ale earlier, either to mingle or just take a little walk around the town square to enjoy the various costumes people seemed to have either purchased or created. Some were intriguing, some were plain, some were downright scary, though he is not the Lion with no Courage. The Lion does make its reappearance though when his cup of ale reached empty as he returns to the table with the food and drinks.
Fawn has arrived.

Harlequin takes the hand the Ice Princess offers, bowing politely over it as he nods, "You do, though I would not have it out of obligation alone. Or perhaps I would," he shrugs, teasing lightly, "Let's not find out." He leads her back towards the dance floor.

"Come now, just tell me… Hey!" The Septon looks at the peacock, doubtless some terrible, withering stare going on beneath the hood. "You've scared her away! Creature! Please!" He begins to hobble in the direction the Fairy takes off in, but true to his bent back, the going is slow.

"Let's not," the Ice Princess agrees on the breath of a laugh, heading back out toward to dancefloor with Harlequin. She offers her own tease in exchange for his: "I should warn you, as I did that charming Peacock just prior, the penalty for stepping on my toes is to have your own frozen off."

And off the fairy darts, to the surprise of the oeacock. As the septon hobbles after her and the fairy runs for dear life, he takes up a quiet spot where fewer others stand. An area that's bustling, but not to crowded as some other points. It makes an idea vantage point for trackig the whereabouts of runaway faeries.

This area is somewhat near the Sea, who finally deigns to speak with a distant wash of amusement over her low words, "Young people." She is, after all, as old as life itself, certainly. Those dark-storm eyes fall on the Peacock unerringly, behind the seashell mask that obscures her features. "You are not going to chase her as well?"

It is amusing to watch how some of the attendee's give chase to the fairy. Fawn weaves through throng of dancers, seeming to have no interest in participating never mind she suggested the game of chase. This sly bit of casual movement may mean she's after the fairy afterall.

After retrieving a new cup of ale, the Lion watches as there is a flurry of action, first the fleeing fairy darting away to the shadows of safety and then a couple of people apparently searching for her. "Hmm… seems like they are really convinced that the fairy has magical powers and want to try to catch her." The lion muses to any that may be near him at the food and drink table.

"That's silly, of course," the Siren chimes in to the Lion, stopping by to refill her drink. "Everybody knows that if you capture a fairy and don't release her when she asks three times, you end up cursed. They'll only give you wishes out of gratitude." She takes a sip of her wine, then grins. "I'm not sure I'd feel grateful if someone captured me whether they released me or not."

Fairy leads a merry chase, leaping over benches ducking under the arms of dancers, occasionally thwapping (and beglittering) people with her wings. She leaps up onto one of the long tables provided for people to sit and eat, her crossing turning into a wild and cavorting sort of dance as she tries to keep her hem — and her feet — out of people's food and drink.

The peacock watches, smiling as the sea approaches and speaks with him. "No," he answes her. "Sometimes keeping still and waiting can prove the better way to hunt."

As the Siren responds to him, the Lion turns his attention from the chase that is going on to the fair haired lady wearing the mask of the sea, then down at the interesting choice of dress and bared feet. "Is that so? Hmm… I guess I will keep that in mind. From what I hear, if you manage to catch a fairy in a jar, you can keep her until you are injured them release her. When you do, you will become fully healed by the fairy."

Somewhere, there is a clock. It strikes twelve.

Well. It is not as if the Septon is in any position to give much chase, his chasing years are long behind. He does shuffle along for a few moments, but then seems to think the better of it, and waves a hand. "The Seven are hardly so difficult," he grumbles to himself, leaning with both hands on his walking stick. "Not so difficult by half…"

"Now why would she do that?" the Siren asks the Lion. "If I was kept in a jar for years and then released because the person who caught me was injured, I don't think /healing/ them would be on my mind." As the bells start to ring, she tilts her head to one side, surprise flickering across her features beneath her mask. "Already?"

To be fair, the Sea was just in the general area where the Peacock came to rest. Going up and talking to random people, totally beneath her, she's just talking to someone near.

To be fair, the Sea was just in the general area where the Peacock came to rest. Going up and talking to random people, totally beneath her, she's just talking to someone near. "I would know little of hunting," she admits before the strike of the clock turns her attention before her gaze returns to the man. "And there is midnight. What, then, will you trade in secret this year?"

Harlequin chuckles at the Ice Princess and nods, "I will keep that in mind. Any wrong move will be met with frostbite. It is a formidable defense," he says, "Are you so wary, lady? Should I not hope for a secret now the clock strikes midnight?"

Tapping his chin, the Lion seems to be considering the Siren's words before nodding as if finding her answer to be most likely correct. "Point taken, I would be pretty angry as well." He then brings his cup to his lips and takes a long sip of the ale before glancing in the direction of where the twelve gongs come from. "Sounds like it is midnight, is something suppose to happen now?" Apparently the Lion has just newly arrived in town and wasn't aware of what this festival will require except for costumes, which he also found out upon arrival.

Coming off the long table, Fairy stumbles and (having completely lost track of her original pursuer's position) reaches out to catch herself — on the Peacock's arm. And then the clock strikes midnight — and she smirks, giving up the chase.

Siren tilts her head at the Lion, looking around herself. "You're lucky, my friend, that the tolling of the bells means it's all over," she laughs softly. "Else I might be tempted to lie about it. But now we're meant to exchange secrets," she explains. "I do hope you've a good one."

The peacock glances towards the clock as it chimes and then finds the very prey he seeks leaning up against him. With a laugh, her curls a hand around her wrist 'catching' the fairy indeed, and glancing between her and the 'sea' as the time of confession draws nigh.

"Your strategy has worked, it seems," the Sea is all bubbling mirth and murmur as she mirrors his own gesture except in her glance between the Peacock and the Fairy. "I shall leave you to claim your prize, hunter." The bare sketch of an allowing nod, and then she is sweeping away, skirts swirling around her in a mimic of the tide as she retreats to find someone else to exchange a secret with.

If the Lion wasn't wearing the lion mask, Siren would see a surprised and perhaps slightly panicked expression. However, he was able to recover slightly though now his brain seems to be trying to come up with a secret, a good one since it is by the lady's request. "Hmm… I hope so too. Though the only one I can think of right now may seem plain and… uninformative. Maybe I can think of another."

The Septon raps his walking stick on the ground again, and gives a guffaw. "And my brother, rest his soul, used to ask why I never wanted ta marry! Feckless things… you give them your devotion, and what do they do? Run off to some… some feathered man! Mother help me, Stranger take them all."

The Ice Princess stills as the clock strikes, the music having wound down, too. She glances about, wary indeed, and hops up onto her tiptoes in her beaded white slippers to murmur something to Harlequin; perhaps her secret? The result is the both of them stealing from the dancefloor, disappearing behind the sea of masked faces.

"Plain and uninformative?" The Siren looks terribly disappointed, sighing. "Do you know, one year, the bells tolled and I was with my mother. And she told me she loved me. As if that was a secret." She pauses, taking a sip of her wine. "Not that I didn't appreciate it, mind. Sometimes there are things that it's just nice to hear said out loud."

Fairy opens her mouth in mute protest, gesturing at her captured wrist. So wronged is she! She blows out a breath — pfft! — rolls her eyes, and stamps her foot. Really. Nature spirits always get such a bad rap.

The Lion manages not to laugh at being told of Siren's past experience about secrets at the stroke of midnight, shaking his head slightly as he tries to make a case for himself, "Well, mine shouldn't be that… obvious. And you are right about that, it can be surprisingly nice to hear something that we usually take for granted." As for who goes first to share secrets, the Lion can only dip his head in a respectful manner with a grin at Siren, "Ladies first?" He asks, either as a suggestion or seeing what is the proper order for the event.

The sea glides away, and the peacock finds himself with a single partner and a secret to tell. He smirks down at the "captured" fairy, indignant at her fate. There is a soft chuckle as he leans down to whisper quietly into the fairy's ear.

Siren gives the Lion a doubtful look from behind her mask, considering. "No trying to slip out of it, now," she warns. "Lions are Lannisters, and Lannisters always pay their debts." Which must be reassurance enough, because she does lean up to whisper her own secret to the Lion.

Leaning in to hear the whisper so Siren doesn't have to lean up too much, the Lion would have a momentarily look of surprise on his face if he wasn't wearing a mask. She would only have to settle for him blinking at her for a few times before he bows his head slightly to her as if to thank her for the secret. Then it is his turn to share his though at first, he does gesture down to the sword at his side for a moment, as if to draw her attention towards before he leans in to whisper into her ear.

Fairy closes her eyes and smiles as the Peacock whispers in her ear, color coming to her pale cheeks. She leans up to whisper in turn, leaning close against him.

Siren looks up at the Lion with a flicker of surprise in her features, head tilting slightly to one side. "Now that /is/ interesting," she murmurs, a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "Though I suspect you should be careful about that. People will be unmasking soon." It's a gentle sort of warning, and her smile is conspiratorial, even if her merman guards are alert around the crowd.

With no one to share his secret with, it would seem, the back-bent Septon shuffles over to a nearby bench and slowly lowers himself down to it. So much for that.
Harlequin has left.

The Peacock holds still, dipping his head down a little so the fairy might share her secret in turn. Whatever she imparts makes him smile and curl an arm briefly around her in a quick squeeze. "Suppose the septon wasn't the only one betwitched tonight," he muses ruefully. "You've been caught, and legend says you grant wishes. I wish for a dance."

Fairy glances at her once-prophet, sadly. Apparently a tender-hearted elemental, she begins to approach the place the Old Septon sits — then sees that Fawn does the same, and so remains in the circle of her bird-captor's arm. She smiles at his wish and nods, then allows herself to be led out among the dancers.

A smile reappears on the Lion's face as he seems to be pleased that the secret he shares wasn't a disappointing one, otherwise he may be in debt to Siren if she was offended by the poor quality. "Indeed, though no worries, M'Lady, there would be no trouble even if I am unmasked. Just that generally, it catches people by surprise when they find out." He does give her a respectful half bow though, "But thank you for sharing yours with me."

Fawn jaunts about as secrets are quietly shared in pairs or more depending on their fancy. When she spots the one portraying a Septon, her 'hoof' gives a tug at his sleeve, waiting for recognition before leaning in to quietly speak through her mask.

"I'm afraid mine is much the same," Siren assures the Lion with a low laugh and an easy smile. "Well." She glances around the crowd. "Maybe a little trouble, but more in the sense of excess indignance, I think." She winks, taking a step back toward her merman guards. "If you'll excuse me, though, I intend to enjoy this night just a little longer before the sea calls me home."

"Stranger take me, I'm too old for this kind of-" The Septon seems to startle a bit at the hoof on his sleeve, though he does glance up at the Fawn. "Have you come for Blessings of the Seven? I don't normally bless deer, but…"

Nodding as Siren prepares to return to her guards, the Lion nods with a smile at the lady, "If I don't see you in passing again tonight, then I bid you good eve and a safe return home to the sea." Watching the Siren for a moment as she departs, the Lion finally turns away as he brings his own drink to his lips for a drink. Seeing if the festival will slowly be dying down or if people are choosing to remain.

The Old Septon seems quite intrigued, if the cant of his head can say anything, at the Fawn's words. He lifts his features, still hooded, close enough to offer something in return.

The Fawn taps at the lips of her mask which conceals whatever expression is held on her face. Though her words could be heard, as well as a faint giggle accompanied by the rise of her shoulders. "Had you taken capture of the fairy, what would you have wished for?" She asked the Septon while taking notice of some of the party-goer's fading to unknown destinations.

He shrugs, does the Septon, at talk of the now-departed Fairy, a hand coming up to brush some of the glitter from his robe. "I don't quite know, though it is a worthy question!" he declares, glancing about once before he looks back at the Fawn. "A better back, I suppose!"

The Lion watches as the crowd begins to dissipate as people are apparently choosing to return home due to the late hour, though his eyes do see a few that are choosing to remain for a little bit longer to enjoy the dwindling festivities. His attention is now focused on the one that is costumed as a fawn and the other the Old Septon that was chasing, or attempting to, the fairy.

Fawn was lucky to avoid the attack of silver glitter though some mud was caked at the ends of her boots, the critter could leave this event unscathed. Both hands for hooves lock into one another before her person, "Is that all? Out of everything in the world?" Small laughter is muffled behind the mask, "Why not youth? Who knows what you may be tomorrow."

She had noticed Lion's search through the crowd and what better way to attract the attention of your natural enemy than to wave a hoof at him.

"There is no promise of wisdom in youth, better to be a wise old man than a young fool, no?" the Septon asks, glancing over at the Lion when he notices the Fawn's waving hoof. "Seven's blessings, friend," he calls out, before he looks back at the Fawn once more.

Catching the wave from his natural prey, the Lion manages a smile and heads towards the Fawn and Septon. When he reaches them, he gives both a respectful nod before grinning at the Fawn first, "Waving at a Lion when you are a Fawn, an ill-advised move, isn't it?" The rhetorical question asked teasingly before he also directs one at the Old Septon, "I see your attempts to capture that elusive fairy was unsuccessful? I guess fairies are just not meant to be captured."

Both hands raise at her sides as a grand gestured shrug, "When one is so young they may not know the wiser!" She chirped at the Lion, the mask bobbed up and down in sizing the costumed male's demeanor, a tall one at that. "Is that not the intrigue of youth? To dare dangerous waters with eyes wide open? Ah the thrill. But I do ask Lion that if you are to ravish me be gentle."

The Septon grumbles. "I don't know that I wanted to catch the thing, just… charmed by it, was all," he explains, snorting with some laughter at the Fawn's words. "Aye, I suppose ignorance doesn't know that it doesn't know, does it? So in that, perhaps youth is a better choice…" At that last bit, his hooded head looks between the two animals. "There is to be a ravishing?"

The Liond does incline his head at the Fawn as she does speak the truth, "You are right there about the daring nature of youth, though one learns very quickly of the consequences of their actions." As for the prospect of the defenseless Fawn ravaged tonight, the Lion can only respond with a shake of his head, "Lucky for you tonight I have already had my fill, so this particular Lion is not hungry. Another time perhaps, if you are caught again."

The Fawn closes both hands against her chest, "Great thanks to the Seven! He is not hungry!" The girl laughs then, folding both arms abreast, "Although tonight that 'C' word does not exist in the name of fun." Her mask cants sidelong, "Have you your fun this evening Lion?" Then to the other, "Septon? It is only midnight and still there are drinks in abundance though most will not be in a clear headed state."

"Caught? Or consequences?" the Septon laughs at the play of the two words together, as if it were some great joke. "Still, one hopes youth does not learn so quickly, else it is not properly enjoyed, and what a shame is that," he declares. "Drinks? Hmm, the Father does love His drinks… I should too."

"Indeed, I arrived here at Stonebridge just today and wasn't expecting this sort of festival so it was certainly a surprise, a pleasant one. I was lucky enough to purchase this mask in time." The Lion said with a nod of his head though he does feel a little bit of weariness tugging at him, with the help of the ale he has drank tonight. "I should probably take my leave and turn in for the night, has been somewhat of a long day."
Name set.

"This is just one of many to come oh Great Lion. I will bid you then a welcome and a good evening. Rest well." The Fawn remarks, dipping her frame into a gesture of courtesy." No doubt his travel has been wary which would leave her in the company of the old seated Septon. "They both may apply tonight." She replies to the Septon, while departing just far enough to retrieve a mug and have it filled with ale. Habit really to fetch one's desire. She does return, a mug for the Septon and nothing for herself as drinking has proved impossible in this mask.

The mug is received with a grateful nod, and it's lifted towards the Lion. "Well met, Good Lion. You are a credit to your kind! Walk with the Seven," the Septon remembers to add, before taking the mug of ale beneath his hood for a long sip. "Ahhhh," he declares, "Never to old to enjoy a good mug of ale. Thank you, Fawn."

Dipping his head in a respectful bow to both the Fawn and the Old Septon, the Lion says, "I also bid you two good evening. And thank you for the welcome, M'Lady." He adds to the Fawn before turning to take a look around the Town Square, trying to remember the direction of where he is staying tonight.

The Fawn does join the Septon on the bench after the Lion's departure. It seems most of the party go-ers have retired for the night or fallen drunk in the town's streets. What a sight.