| Page 039: Not Just Any Whore |
| Summary: | Irys and Stragen catch up. Stragen acts strangely out of character when things move in old patterns. |
| Date: | 20 Aug 288 |
| Related Logs: | Lavender Linens And Molasses Candy |
| Players: |
  |
| Some Seedy Bar |
|---|
| Some common place in Terrick's Roost that's not the Rockcliff! |
| 20 Aug 288 |
When they enter the common room of the tavern, the Westerwoman's blue eyes sweep over the tables and their inhabitants, perhaps sizing them up as much out of habit as anything else. That said, she is on Stragen's arm, and it is to him that she returns her attention. And her smile. "Come on, baby," she murmurs. "How about that drink?"
"Aye, drinks indeed," Stragen agrees, and slaps down a few pennies on the counter. "Wine for my lady, here, and ales for me." "Ales?" The bartender asks. "Aye, ales. And keep them coming!" Dressed in new leathers decorating him as a Terrick common sworn, naturally there are those in this establishment who might feel uneasy around him. However, the large man is doing nothing but focusing attention on his woman-friend. Still smiling at her, he says, "It's good to have you here, Irys. I need more folks watching my back, even if it's after they've taken all my money."
Irys' lips curve up in a slow, close-lipped smile that somehow imparts a personal invitation to share in her amusement. Aye, her teeth do not show, but the expression doesn't suffer for it. It's intimate, like a smile not given to just anyone.
"You know I've always got your back, Stragen," she murmurs, her voice an amber whiskey-and-honey contralto, with just enough smokiness to give it a natural purr. "Whether you've spent your money with me or not." Her eyes twinkle. "That is to say, a poke will cost you. I'm not freelancing these days. Can't give them away free. Even for you."
"I would never ask you to give me a freebie," Stragen states, chuckling. "You've counted my scars. Each one of those were paid for." His voice sounds different than Irys might remember it, sounding like he took a shot to the throat at one point, but he's got no marks that indicate otherwise. When the drinks are delivered, he offers the wooden goblet to his companion and lifts his own flagon. "To old times," he says, offering the flagon to be toasted.
The goblet is taken in hand as if it were made of fine gold. Irys' pale fingers wrap about the wood and bring it up to knock against Stragen's flask. "To old times," she echoes, keeping her blue eyes on his grey. Once the first sip is taken, she sets the wine back down and tilts her head, eyes twinkling again. "Perhaps I'll have the opportunity to count the ones you'd collected since the last time." She grins a little. "Now tell me why you can't come watch me work."
Stragen gives a resigned sigh. "I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," he explains. "I was in the Rockcliff Inn, getting the locals drunk and stealing a few pouches. The Lady Liliana Camden, a ward of the Terricks, caught my eye, and you know me - I can't refuse a pretty lady. So I ambled over and began chatting her up, when three drunk and rude individuals came over and threatened me because I was singing Ironborn shanties." There's no love for the Ironborn here in Terrick's Roost, and Stragen could easily pass as one. "Push came to shove, literally, and steel was drawn. So I reacted, stabbed one, cut another. A brawl broke out." He lets her process that before continuing.
Irys is hardly a fancy Lady, though there is a refinement to her features that might remind someone of the nobility. She -is-, after all, a Hill. But no, Irys is a whore, and one who lived and worked in one of the dirtiest, most grim cities in all of Westeros: King's Landing. She doesn't blink an eyelash when Stragen starts describing a bar brawl.
"Go on," she encourages, taking another sip of her wine, even as she reaches out to gently rub the man's thigh. "So you were singing songs that people didn't like and they tried to stab you for it. And you fought back." Her eyes twinkle in amusement. "Surely there's more?"
"Aye." He takes a hefty drink from flagon, then runs his wrist over his mouth, looking more like the barbarian. "There was a fight, I got her out, and then because a man died I was escorted to the Four Eagles Tower and made a 'guest'. Truly a guest. Not imprisoned. And then Ser Jarod gave me the option to become employed to be the Lady Camden's sworn sword in place of the one that wasn't much use in that fight." He sighs again, shaking his head.
She can't help it. Irys laughs quietly. "You look so forlorn!" she says, that Westerman accent thick as anything. "Poor Stragen, bound to a house and playing wet nurse to a Lady." Her eyes twinkle. "How are you managing then?"
"No worse than when I worked for House Tordane," Stragen explains. "Although then, I was helping them kill. I wasn't guarding the virtues and purity of a Lady." He rubs at his nose and sniffs. "I like the Lady Camden. She's straightforward. Doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. She's not prissy or anything like that. And I think because of that, and because of me, Lord Ser Jerold scolded her." He shrugs. "This may be a very short job."
That causes the girl to shake her head. "Keep it," she says quietly. "It's steady work, and if the worst you have to do is hold her hand when you cross the market square…" Her lips curve into that closed smile again. "Ah, Stragen," she sighs. "Don't you know how noble women have to live? Prim and proper, always with a lady's maid, and they can -have- it. If she isn't prissy or disinterested in the world, then it's her own fault she got scolded. Not yours. You're just there to keep her safe, yes?"
She drains her goblet and sets it back down on the counter, waiting for a refill. "Well?" she asks suddenly. "Aren't you going to ask me how I've been?"
Stragen smiles at that, his briefly deflated demeanor perking up instantly. "Oh, well, of course. How've you been, Irys? Whore any interesting men lately?" He drains his flagon and taps the bar for a refill, which the bartender already has for him. He did say ales, after all.
Before she speaks, Irys leans towards the bartender and orders a couple shots of the harder stuff as well. "Thought I was going to get married, actually," she says as she settles back into her seat. "I paid off my debt at King's Landing… took almost everything I had to do it.. Left with one of my johns. Not sure if you remember him? Tall, dark haired gambler with one green eye and one blue? Went by the name of Koryn back then."
She shrugs. "Anyway, he wanted to get enough money up for a real wedding, he said. A Septon and fancy clothes and a gold necklace for me…" She shudders just a little, eyes fluttering closed. After a second, she opens them half-lidded and exhales. "He lost big here in the Riverlands… And that was that. Skipped out on me. So, naturally, I had to whore off his debt so that -I- could go, and I've been working my way down, trying to find a halfway decent place to land."
With that said, she reaches over, grabs the shot and slams it back.
"Terrick's Roost is as far a place as any, to be fair," Stragen comments. He drains his shot as well, although he's not quick to throw it back, savoring the burn. "As far as I know there's a few locals you may find competition with. Other places south from here might have fewer, uh, 'entertainers'."
The little blonde laughs. "Competition, no competition, I care not. So long as I am free, then I am pleased." She touches the silver ring on her middle finger. "I had to sell a good many of my jewels," she says softly, "in order to pay off the house."
She lifts her eyes. "I'll need someone to introduce me to the local nobility…" Her lips part in a sly smile.
Stragen dips his head. "Aye, I can do that. Easiest place to start is the Terricks, and the Tordanes if they're about," he states. "And the Camdens, although there's only one in Terrick's Roost now, which is my charge."
The woman reaches for her second glass of wine. "You know what happens if I drink this." She holds it in her hand, eyes twinkling into his. "Which is why I think you ordered me wine to begin with." She slides off her stool.
"I ordered you wine because I know you aren't partial to ale," Stragen comments, waggling his flagon a little so the contents slosh. "To be perfectly honest with you, Irys, I just got my stipend today. To blow it all on ale and whores… well, not any whore, mind you, but…" He watches her carefully, eyebrow raised.
Irys laughs, slides back onto her stool. "Can't blame a girl for trying," she says good naturedly. "And no. Of course not just any whore. I understand." She shrugs a little and slides the wine glass away from herself. "I think, perhaps, you are more careful than I remember," she says at length. "All things are different when they come together after a time apart." Her lips turn into a wry little smirk.
Realizing he probably lost his chance this evening, that resigned look comes back across his face. "Probably for the better. I'm a Terrick sworn, even if I am a paid sword. I need to uphold appearances and all that happy horseshit." He drains his second flagon.
The woman can't help but grin. "I could help you uphold something else," she purrs, an eyebrow lofting. "If, that is, you're willing to part with a -little- of your stipend…" She tucks her chin just a little and smiles at him askance, looking out from under those long lashes. "I'm hard to get, Stragen," she murmurs in what could only be described as a bedroom voice. Her hand moves to rest on the man's thigh, where it slides up towards where his leg is met by another appendage. "All you have to do is ask."
Stragen clears his throat, turning away slightly to pound demandingly on the bar. "More ale!" He says loudly to the bartender, who only chuckles at the sworn's predicament. "If I spend all my money on ale, there'll be none left for the whores," he declares. He was never this difficult to get him to chase her in the past, so something is defintely different.
Irys laughs and retrieves her hand. "Oh my," she murmurs. Her finger taps against her lips. "And here in lies the dilemma. I do love a challenge, but you seem so desperate…" She bites at her lip for a moment.
"Irys, you're probably going to find better luck with other patrons this evening. Not me." Stragen is quick to drain most of his third ale before he sets it down, almost gasping for breath. Glancing at her, his expression hardens briefly before softening with a small smile. "I am glad to see you. I just don't want to possibly screw things up more for this Lady I am sworn to protect. All right? I got her in trouble once. I don't want her to lose face again."
Irys notes the changing expressions, and it prompts a slight arch of her brow. "I understand. I respect." She pushes back her hair and reaches out to take his hand before it can reach for a fourth ale. "Save your stipend, Stragen," she says a little firmly. "You may need it."
After a second, she rises. "Well. I should et back to work. I guess I might see you around."
"It's good to see you, Irys," Stragen repeats, smiling sheepishly. But he does not keep her. Instead, he drains his ale, and moves to the exit, looking like a beaten dog.
