No Luck Squire |
Summary: | Briallyn, stifled by her Septa, employs Desmond to distract her for a time. |
Date: | 22/4/2012 |
Related Logs: | None |
Players: |
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Crane's Crossing Inn |
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While Crane's Crossing is technically an Inn, it caters to the traveling nobility almost exclusively. The floors around the hearth are finely crafted stonework, as are the slate blocks that the firepit is constructed of. The rest of the floor is done in stained oak that matches the few long tables and the chairs. The rest of the main room is furnished with plush couches and seating to entice visitors to delay their leave. A full service kitchen provides food of all kinds as well as high quality ales and wines. Also available are several women to provide hospitality to the lonely or those in need, the quality of them to be beaten by but a few in the Riverlands. A hallway near the kitchen leads off to the rear of the building and several up-scale rooms. |
22nd April, 289 A.L. |
Poor Lady Briallyn, so lonely, so dejected, so /bored/. Certainly, she could be doing something else, such as needlework or reading, but being corraled perpetually by the Septa has stifled much of her social interaction. Which a growing girl needs, really. So, in spite of other possible forms of entertainment (although one might question whether or not embroidery is entertainment), the young woman finds herself in the common room of the Crane's Inn with little to do. The dour, disapproving air that perpetually surrounds her Septa is warning enough for anyone that might come close to interacting with Briallyn.
Instead, she sits idle, perched upon the edge of her chair with an elbow propped upon the polished top of the table at which she is seated. Chin in hand, the other fingers busy themselves by setting aside each of her playing cards, one at a time. The deck itself is elaborate, no doubt expensive, and exquisitely inked in stylized renditions of House heraldry. But, there is no one to play with, for Adelia is having her ear properly filled with the righteous ways of the Seven at a table just behind Briallyn's own. Septa Darna may not be able to convince Briallyn of anything, but Adelia is a silent, captured audience.
Desmond groggily clank-clanks down the stairs in his armor, with his pack, unable to pass Briallyn's posse without getting caught up in the nigh potent, disapproving air that her Septa gives off. But Desmond is sporting a rather Garett-like air himself, grumpy and growly. "Good morning, Lady Briallyn," he grunts, eying her deck. "What are you up to…"
Desmond's behavior triggers something within the young woman, perhaps a mechanism to deal with surly men, but the result is a pleasant one. For once, the youth doesn't bite his head off, nor snark. Dark green eyes snap upward from the lavish deck of cards, many of which cover the surface of the table, to find the young squire's face in genuine surprise. A cursory glance of his attire reveals that his punishment continues, and her expression is a brief twist of sympathy for his plight before becoming quickly subverted by an impish, but tempered smile. "Why, Lord Desmond," Briallyn chirps good naturedly. "Good morning to you. You're looking rather dashing. Are you going to sweep Lady Tiaryn off her feet today, perhaps?" An elegant, well groomed finger flips one of the cards over, but the young Lady affords not glance for its face. "I'm up to very little."
She tilts her head ever so slightly in the direction over her shoulder, no doubt indicating the sour faced Septa rambling at defenseless Adelia behind her. "My guardian is formidable indeed, and not a single person will approach me. That makes you half again as brave as any of this pathetic lot," Briallyn says a mite more cooly, full lips pursing. "I don't suppose you have any time, do you? I'm beginning to wonder if it's truly possible to die of boredom, or loneliness, or both at once." How can one resist, when she asks so politely? While delicately pressing one lustrous lock of rich mahogany hair behind one ear and gazing up at Desmond through long, thick, dark, and curling lashes.
Desmond is more than a little surprised by Briallyn's pleasant reaction. And suspicious. He stares at her, trying to detect any sort of sarcasm. "Your Septa is formidable but I've endured worse in the past several days. You're truly that bored? I imagine you would be," he sighs. "Don't die of loneliness, m'Lady, I think I can spare a few moments. But I shouldn't be here /too/ long…" Well, Briallyn's gestures do him in. No, he cannot resist the hair-toying. He likes hair. Derp. With a 'clunk', he finds a seat across Briallyn, chair creaking.
In the quiet shadow of one corner in the common room, Roland relaxes and watches. He notices the young woman who resembles the Ladies Haigh, and has his suspicions confirmed by the clanky young squire who made such an impression in Tordane Tower. He can only watch with interest as their situation develops further. Especially after watching such an amusing bit of feminine manipulation.
She seems to deflate a little at the suggestion that the man can't remain too long, but voices nothing negative. "That's alright, I understand," Briallyn says simply, and sounds as if she means it when she does so. "I don't suppose you play at cards or dice? Or maybe both?" The young woman sounds quite hopeful, and begins to pluck each card from the table with care so as to avoid minimal damage. "I played cards with Garett, but he appears to have very little luck. At least when it comes to playing against me. Now, then, if you don't know how to play, I can teach you."
The young Lady Haigh fusses with the deck, folding and cutting the deck where Desmond can see her doing so, and she does so with proficiency before setting the deck upon the table, face down. "And I always play for… something. What that is, is up to you. Of course, you can bet for money, if you think you can win." A toothy grin accompanies the remark, and Briallyn unties a small pouch from her waist to set it atop the table, heavy with coin.
Desmond is oblivious to the man in the shadows, though the lurking sort isn't exactly uncommon here. "You'll have to teach me, I haven't had much time for games of wit," he replies, removing his gloves and gauntlets. "Gambling? Of all the people," he finally smiles, leaning back in his seat. "I don't think I can bet for money. But perhaps you'll keep me company on the hill? It might be good for you," he chuckles, reaching for the cards.
"I cannot run up hills, not with a Septa, Lord Desmond. But, I suppose I could sit about for moral support. Or to remind you of how comfortable sitting can be. On your part, perhaps I will simply claim small favors." She almost sounds apologetic, picking up a number of cards from the deck, face down, and splitting them between herself and Desmond. Three for him, and three for the young Lady. "Highest wins, choose well. And by the way, if you think you can get away with it, do not play your highest card first."
Briallyn offers him a cheeky grin, dark green eyes fastening upon the stiffened, lacquered cards intently. A quick study, her eyes are quite expressive, indicating visibly just how high, or low, the cards might be in her hand. She makes her selection, as does the squire, and wins. Barely. A smug smile curls those full lips, and she needn't say she's succeeded.
Desmond is slowly waking up, and thus less cranky when he eyes Briallyn's win. He scoffs, light-heartedly, drumming his fingertips on the wood. "Well we're off to a good start. All right, I'll not have you sitting there watching so you may mock. What if you recite to me a single story from your silly book, hm?" Now he adopts a vulpine smile, moving his cards about.
"Are you certain? It appears that I'm already winning." His smile is met with one of her own, a familiar fox-like grin, and Briallyn eyes her cards, again. At his suggestion, color has lightly flushed her cheeks, and she bites her lip. "Come now, Lord Desmond. If you desire a Lady to read such things to you, you ought to suggest as much to Lady Tiaryn. I do not think you'd have a care to hear it from my lips." That color in her cheeks intensifies, and Briallyn quietly clears her throat of embarrassment.
"Perhaps you will settle for mere coin?" The young woman pauses, plucking a card from the two in her hands, placing it face down in front of her until Desmond makes his own choice. Revealing both cards reveals another win for the Lady, and that waning grin returns in full force. "Not that it will do you any good, of course."
Desmond dips his head, rubbing his brow. Well /that/ backfired. "I'll not disgrace Lady Tiaryn in such a manner," he mutters quickly. "I would only ask it from you to watch you squirm." A cheeky grin.
"Very well, coin. Perhaps I'll give it to Lord Roric for his troubles." And much to his delight, he wins this round, brightening right up. "Ha! All right, come now," he demands, palm before her.
"I'm not in a habit of squirming for men other than Ser Garett," she replies primly, lowering her voice as her Septa clears her throat. Loudly. No doubt had she fully heard her, Septa Darna would have been on her feet, but she hears tone, and that's enough. Briallyn narrows her eyes at Desmond significantly before reaching a hand for the small pouch. She dips her fingers in, fetching out a few pennies. "I do hope you don't lose /too much/, Lord Desmond. Or else those small favors might build to something more significant."
The pennies are pressed across the surface of the table towards Desmond. Carefully. Taking Desmond's last card, she places it and her own at the bottom of the deck before drawing six more, depositing another three in Desmond's awaiting hand. "But, in all seriousness, I wanted to ask." She studies her cards, seemingly without care, and sets it face down. "How is he?" Briallyn needn't specify who 'he' is, and the reveal of their cards displays openly another win. She says nothing, opting to snicker instead.
Desmond dips his head, rubbing his brow. Well /that/ backfired. "I'll not disgrace Lady Tiaryn in such a manner," he mutters quickly. "I would only ask it from you to watch you squirm." A cheeky grin.
"Very well, coin. Perhaps I'll give it to Lord Roric for his troubles." And much to his delight, he wins this round, brightening right up. "Ha! All right, come now," he demands, palm before her.
"I'm not in a habit of squirming for men other than Ser Garett," she replies primly, lowering her voice as her Septa clears her throat. Loudly. No doubt had she fully heard her, Septa Darna would have been on her feet, but she hears tone, and that's enough. Briallyn narrows her eyes at Desmond significantly before reaching a hand for the small pouch. She dips her fingers in, fetching out a few pennies. "I do hope you don't lose /too much/, Lord Desmond. Or else those small favors might build to something more significant."
The pennies are pressed across the surface of the table towards Desmond. Carefully. Taking Desmond's last card, she places it and her own at the bottom of the deck before drawing six more, depositing another three in Desmond's awaiting hand. "But, in all seriousness, I wanted to ask." She studies her cards, seemingly without care, and sets it face down. "How is he?" Briallyn needn't specify who 'he' is, and the reveal of their cards displays openly another win. She says nothing, opting to snicker instead.
Desmond cannot help but twitch at the allusion to a squirming, writhing Briallyn. Oh Gods. That image, forever burned into his mind- Desmond shakes his head, blinking. "Significant favors? I can't imagine what you'd have in mind." His fingers curl around the coins and he drops them in his pouch. "Hmm…? Oh. He's, heh, he's well. He's been fairly good about avoiding wine, I think-FUCK," he exclaims, perhaps a bit too perturbed by his loss. "Sorry! Sorry," he tells the rest of the gawking patrons. "That's… /two/."
"I'm fairly certain it's /three/," Briallyn says smugly, clearing her throat and offering her Septa an apologetic look over her shoulder as the woman begins to bore holes through Desmond with her mud colored eyes. "I'm sorry, Septa Darna, he's a very passionate young man," the young Lady tries to explain at the squire's outburst. The Septa offers Desmond a warning look, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, before returning to her lecture whilst muttering something to the effect of wondering how that poor righteous knight tolerates such crude, ill behaved youths in his life. Smothering a snort, Briallyn turns to face Desmond once more, fingers smoothing at the snugly fitted bronze silk of her second sleeve. "I haven't decided what I have in mind, either. I suppose I'll decide when I need something."
Flashing him a toothy grin, she reveals her second card. Another win, and it's clear from her elated expression she's enjoying this. Perhaps too much. But, that dampens considerably at how little Desmond has to say about Garett. "Just.. well? That's it? Gods, but you're-" Twitch. Briallyn draws a steadying breath and forces a calmer, gentler disposition towards the squire. "I'm just concerned about him. And I… miss him." Nibbling on her lower lip, the Lady resupplies them with cards, and then does something odd. With slender fingers, nails long and neatly groomed, Briallyn pulls a pair of ivory dice from her bosom with a sly smile.
"Since you are faring so poorly, Desmond, I will let you have a second chance. You needn't take it, but. It's a gamble, right? If one of us loses a play, we can choose to roll. Then, we put forth our second card. Whoever's card is closer to the number on the die wins. But, there is a catch. The loser has to pay double what they've bet."
Desmond softens and sighs when Briallyn presses for more about Garett. "I know you miss him," he says in a hushed voice. "I wish that I could help with that. Ser Garett is… better. Pale, but not as gaunt as he was."
"Curse my luck. I'll take it, sure, I don't think I really have anything left to lose in terms of dignity." It seems he's lost track of the time, rather settled in his seat, task forgotten.
No matter what other things of interest have developed over the course of the day, watching the young Haigh Lady fleece the poor squire of his savings was by far the most entertainment in the common room. Roland works quietly on some papers, finalizing the numbers, and keeping an eye out on the door, obviously expecting someone.
"Perhaps you could tell him that. That I miss him," she mutters, studying the polished table absently. "I tell him, but, it…" The teeth nibbling on her full lower lip bite harder, and Briallyn drops one of the elaborate dice into Desmond's outstretched hand. "Two months is a very long time. And I don't mean for /that/," she says primly, eyes lifting from the table to peer at Desmond before he can find the time to make a quip.
"I just value his company. Now, then, have a go." Her elbow is propped on the table to anchor her outstretched palm, chin in hand, so that she can watch Desmond roll. And fail. The pips favor her, instead, and she almost seems… oddly disappointed. "Oh, Desmond. That's quite unfortunate for you, isn't it?
Desmond shan't quip, he's not that terrible! "I'll pass it along," he promises, then grunts as he fails yet again. "Welp," he throws his hands up and flattens them on the table. "Unfortunate is my Gods damned life," he laughs weakly. "I- Oh shit, I have to get going!" He stands and nearly knocks over the table. "That's… that's three favors, right? Small favors, yes?" he asks, heaving his pack onto his shoulders.
"Five," Briallyn intones melodically, almost in a sing-song style of voice. "You lost your die roll, remember? That's an additional two favors. One might say that I could roll them together for one large favor." She's very business-like, even if she's disappointed that Desmond appears to be taking his leave. The young woman collects her cards quickly, but careful to avoid bending or otherwise damaging them. "Where are you going?" It's a silly question, especially when she realizes what the answer must be.
"Oh. Right. The hill…" Briallyn sighs wistfully, slips the dice back into her bosom, and then sets the cards upon the deck with a smooth gesture. "Don't hurt yourself out there, alright, Desmond? My brothers always warned me to pace myself, or I'd be done in too soon. Practically a lame horse, they'd say." At her suggestion, Briallyn peers up at him intently with sincere concern in her voice as she lifts the deck to place it back into its protective wooden case.
"You may roll them together for one large favor, sure," Desmond replies distractly, looking about the common room. His pale eyes finally settle back on Briallyn. "Yes, the hill. The Punishment Hill, as Ser Garett calls it. Believe me, I'm /trying/ to pace myself." He pauses, regarding her with a bit more fondness. "Thank you. I'll see you soon, all right? If you cannot find better company, I shall be around later on. And thanks for the brief entertainment, truly!"