|Rainy Day Interlude|
|Summary:||While the rain falls, Sofya and Justin have a small chat.|
|Tents! And rain.|
|Sat May 19, 289|
Rain, rain, bloody rain. Lots of it. It started yesterday with the storm that rolled in upon the opening day of the tournament and it hasn't blown over and let up, as hoped. It's still pouring. Absolute sheets of it, with other storm cells rumbling with thunder and lightning like there's no end to it. The grassy lists have become sodden, mud seeping up and running off to collect into pools of standing water. Being the second day of it with no sign of letting up, it's starting to make morale a little sour. No banquet, nor much dancing, or anything on the part of the Frey's to relieve the bordem of their guests. Hmph, some hosts.
Justin has found himself a chair and settled himself under the edge of a pavillion's awning. His dark hair is damp as the rain blows in from the side occationally to wet him but he simply can't abide being shut in where the air is stale. He has a small table set beside himself with a few things laid out on it, metal brush, honing oil, a cloth, and a few tools. An oiled leather satchel. Across his lap lays a shirt of maile. Bordem has set him to checking and rechecking every link and to make any repairs he can find needing to be done, polishing and oiling up the set to gleam dully. It's an old set of maile, without rivotted links nor fancy brass and copper rings to work a pattern of colors into the steel. There's a wine cup on the low table next to him but whatever was in it, it's empty now.
It was a little while ago now that Sofya joined him beneath the awning, silently settling herself farther back out of the damp and the rain with a nod and curtsey. In her lap is a task of her own, an ornate doublet that she carefully picks tiny dragon scales into, the broad from of the twisting creature spiralling across the back and down the arms. She wears her pin of the same, marking her house, as she takes advantage of what meager daylight they have to attempt her work while her Lord tends to his business elsewhere.
Repairing and polishing maile is the sort of nasty job you give to a Squire, if you had one. Or someone below your rank at least. Justin however is rather used to doing for himself. He would have greeted Sofya upon her arrival and let her be to do her work, at least for a while. He lifts a hand to skim hair back out of his face, leaving a smudge upon his brow unknowingly. He lifts his pale grey eyes to glance back at what she is doing, Sofya being so quiet at her needlework. Justin sets the tool he was using down and picks up his goblet, then reminded that there isn't anything in it to drink. He sets it back down before his light baritone finally speaks up.
"Didn't I see you back at the Roost with two horses? Are you with someone here whom serves House Terrick?" They have not been introduced, after all. Justin shifts in the chair to better look at her, himself wearing a black surcoat edged in golden hued threadwork over a blue-violet tunic.
Slipping the needle through the thick fabric with a glimmer of silver, Sofya looks up as the Lord Terrick deigns to speak to her and offers a short nod. "Yes, my Lord. You might have seen me in town or about the Roost herself. I am the retainer to Ser Inigo Vance, although my mother served House Terrick," she answers promptly, settling a finger over her place in her stitches and tucking the needle under it.
"I see. I've met Ser Inigo. His father married my Aunt Clara, isn't that right? That would make him my cousin." Justin muses, piecing out how he's related to the other man even if he doesn't really know his father's siblings too well. Names and faces barely remembered from childhood. "You are his retainer in what fashion? You handle Lord Inigo's horses, then?"
"Yes, my Lord, that is correct," Sofya replies, tipping her head with smile. Her dark locks slip over her shoulder as she does so. "Lady Clara Terrick wed the Lord Ser Osmond Vance," she clarifies, in case he might be uncertain as to which Vance the lady was wed. "In any manner he requires, of course. I see to the Lord's horse as well though."
Justin lays the heavy maile shirt onto the small table, putting a hand out to make certain it doesn't tip and fall over. The steel links are heavy and try to slide right off, but he rolled it. Then he gets himself up and leans as far back as he might to try and pop his spine. A faint sound, a grimace, then he's stepping around the table to snag a man moving by in the rain who's wearing Mallister livery. A few words are exchanged, Justin instantly getting soaked in the downpour along with the Squire who is likely Ser Kamron's. After a moment, the young Terrick lord returns and wipes water from his face, "My apology. I saw him passing by and thought he might snag us a skin of wine from the Frey's hall upon his return."
Fugh, now he's wet again. But he'll dry out. Justin doesn't retake his seat however. He clasps his hands loosely behind his back and paces the small area slowly, "Ser Inigo has several fine horses then? Have you been in his service long?"
The sudden dash of the Terrick Lord into the rain is regarded with a squint from the Vance retainer, eyes wide as the man bolts out into the downpour. "My Lord," Sofya stutters, rising to her feet and setting her needlework aside with a fluttery motion. She does not follow him out into the rain, clicking her tongue lightly at the sight. "There are no apologies need my Lord…let me," the Vance retainer steps to the side, efficiently dipping into the pavilion proper to fetch a towel for Justin as he paces.
"He doesn't need to wait to dry out. She offers him the towel with a shake of her head and a mild smile. "Just his stallion, my Lord, and my own mount. That would be the dapple you saw, the other day," Sofya answers, moving back towards her seat once he has accepted the towel and no sooner. "I've been in the service of the Vance's since I was a child. I was assigned to Ser Inigo just after her finished his knighthood."
Not caring the least that he was wetted by the rain, Justin nonetheless accepts the cloth, "I won't melt and I don't catch colds. Usually, but thank you." He twists his mouth wryly, then towels off his face and tossles his hair so it'll stop dripping down the back of his neck. Lowering the towel, he nods faintly, "You have told me something of yourself, and something of your Lord, but you have not told me your name. You seem to know who I am, yet you have me at disadvantage." Justin dries as much of himself off as he might without going to change his clothes, then hangs the cloth on a peg set into the tent pole nearest. Someone else coming in through the rain will surely have need of it. Oh, like the fellow coming now with the wine skin! It's a boy from the Frey's tower, word having been passed on that wine was wanted. Justin steps back out to the edge of the awning to accept it, "Thank you. Don't catch cold, boy!" The lad flashes a grin and turns to dash off in the rain.
Sofya just smiles amiably at his acceptance, offering, "Be that as it may, it's still better not to chance it. At least so it seems to me, it wouldn't do much good for your own pleasure in the tourney if you caught a cold, my Lord." Lifting a hand, she sweeps her dark hair over her shoulder and briefly adjusts her shawl before retaking her seat. The lazy hang of the towel is regarded with an amused look as she picks her needle back up. "I hadn't know you wanted it, my Lord. I'm Sofya Dale," she says with a slip of mirth warming her tone.
Justin unstoppers the wine and pours some of it into his cup he had used before. "Do you have a glass, you are welcome to some of this." As he does not see another to pour some for her, he stopppers it back and lays it on the table ere he retakes his own seat, now slightly repositioned for better conversation. The rain continues to fall, the drone of it making them raise their voices somewhat in order to hear one another.
"Pleasure to make your aquaintence, goodwoman Sofya. I think I heard someone say that the Lady Roslyn had taken ill with a cold but … I am not certain. I hope she's all right." Justin frowns, then tastes the wine. He looks out at the damnable rain that refuses to let up. "Won't be much of a tourney to enjoy, if the sun doesn't come out."
"Thank you, my Lord," she says with a smile. Although she replies to his offer, Sofya makes no move to avail herself of the wine or find a cup. Her hands pick back up on her work asa Justin settles to speak with her, gaze flitting from it to the Terrick Lord. "Likewise a pleasure. The rain will do that, if one is already off-colour, I understand." The needle and thread dark in and out of the design. "There won't be much of a tourney at all, the way it's coming down. The horse'd have trouble settling their footing in this much mud. There is nothing to be done for the weather, though."
"Aye, the horses will slip, slide and fall in the mud." That won't be pretty. Justin sips from his cup as his gaze now watches the rain falling more than watching her. The evening is drawing down and the light failing as it fades towards night. Some of the pavillions are light from within, and likely this one is as well for others are using it. Setting his cup down, Justin starts to pick up his tools and put his things away into the oiled satchel.
"Well, I hope it clears up. Long way to travel for nothing if it doesn't. People I should speak to if I can find them." The heavy maile he rolls up as snugly as he might and drops it on top of the rest into the leather bag where he can keep the rain from it. Justin finishes off his cup and if she doesn't want any of it, he slips the wineskin's strap over his shoulder as well, "Enjoy your needlework, Sofya. Perhaps tomorrow will be better." Whatever the case, if he's to go and seek out those he needs to speak with, Justin's going to get soaked all over again. Nothing to be done for it.