|Related Logs:||Takes place immediately after Friends In Low Places|
|Terrick's Roost - Rockcliff Inn|
|The Rockcliff Inn is one of the better inns within the town and it shows with the well-lit interior and the relative cleanliness to the other locations in Terrick's Roost. The tables are polished with oils and the floor regularly swept. A set of booths towards a darker rear of the Inn's bottom floor, just beneath the staircase, are where whores generally socialize and eye prospects from when not waiting tables. Signs over the undersized bar area advertise prices for ales and wines as well as several different choices of food to be served at the small eating area by the bar or in the main open area in its comfortable seating. A door behind the bar leads to the kitchen and cellar while another near the staircase leads to a private room that would appear to be off-limits to the 'wait staff' except for food and drink service.|
|Mon Jul 18, 288|
Later into the evening on Monday, Rockcliff is as busy as can be expected for any night of the week. The regulars, sworn swords and several knights, have gathered around a couple tables to the side with some of the tavern's whores comingling and trying to make a sale. A few who drew the short straws are serving pitchers of ale and wine. Food is waiting on the bar for delivery as well. One of the woman about is dressed a bit nicer than the rest though it would not appear any of the sitting customers are female. Employee? Actual customer? She's talking to a middle aged gentleman with an easy smile, both seeming to be enjoying themselves though he seems to be on his way out - and judging by his dress, it will be back to the Tower.
The place is busy enough, in fact, that it's unlikely one more new arrival will draw that much attention in and of itself. The door creaks open to admit a blond man in a black cloak, a shortsword strapped to his side, his boots still bearing the mud of the road. He pauses at the entrance for a moment, getting a look at the place and the people in it before moving towards the bar. As he shrugs his cloak off his shoulders, he reaches for a coin purse and flicks a copper coin to the person behind said bar. "Ale, if you please," he says; his voice is a strong but raspy baritone. "And a bowl of whatever you're serving." Another coin follows the path of the first as he settles into a seat, letting out a weary sigh.
The new entrant may not be immediately noticed but the man setting himself at the bar is. Hard to miss someone like that. The better-dressed of the female attendants dismisses herself from the company of the noble, fingers waggling at him as she slips away towards the bar while the innkeeper goes about getting the order. The woman looks him over quickly on the approach and settles against the bar. Its hard to miss her chest in what she is wearing so the woman is definitely not nobility. Not with the girls on display like that. But she isn't shoving them in the man's face. She actually seems to be blading them away. "Evening," she greets easily, a friendly smile. "Don't think I've seen you in here before, have I? Are you fresh to Terrick's Roost..?" she seems to be waiting for a name.
The woman's approach doesn't quite startle Kevan; he's too alert for that. He is surprised, however, to be approached so quickly… but then, given the nature of the place he's in, perhaps he shouldn't be. His head turns towards the woman who spoke to him, examining her briefly before he offers a nod and thin smile of his own. "And to you, miss. Ser Kevan Tierney," he introduces himself, picking up on her unspoken prompt. "Doubtful you have, I think. It's… been some time since last I was here."
The woman dips her head in reverence to the man's title. "Ser Kevan Tierney. Well met." Two of the men at the table of sworn are watching. Subtly. "I'm Miss Amelia of Seagard. I do work here but," she returns an easy smile, "not tonight. I apologize if I'm to be believed to be available. But if you are interested we have others. If not?" Her eyes have drifted to the other whores and finally settles back on the man. "You can be left to your thoughts if that's what you wish." Its all offered easily.
Kevan gives a slight shake of the head. "In truth, I'm weary from the road. I desire little at the moment but a warm meal and a bed that isn't a tree." There's a sudden twinkle in his eye. "Another time, perhaps." The barkeep places a horn of ale on the bar before him, and Kevan takes a long gulp. "Stay, though, if you're so inclined. I usually travel alone; my only options for conversation on the road are my horse or my bird. As you might imagine, neither of them usually have much to say. I would welcome the company."
The woman's smile is warm and simple. If she were faking it, likely it would be fuller and more sultry while trying to reconsider. "Absolutely, Ser Kevan. We have rooms here that are kept free of the womenfolk employed here but for chambermaidens. I can have the bed warmed at your request or anything prepared for it as required." She's extremely well-spoken for a whore. To the point that she almost sounds like a noble. Her words are clipped and clean, devoid of the slackjawed swing of many commoners. "Of course," she replies to the request for company. "I charge more for those I-" Amelia stops and makes a face. A long breath is taken as she looks down at herself and then lifts her expression to the man once more, her face turn prim and proper. Her voice carefully controlled for the next: "I charge more for those I would lie with so I do not charge for company - to keep your mind at ease." The innkeeper gives her an odd look but goes about his business. "So your horse or hawk?" She leans her back to the bar, keeping her assets out of his face. "We do not see many men who hunt in such ways in here. Might I be privy to where you are from, Ser Kevan?"
Kevan utters a harsh little laugh at the woman's pause. "No need to worry on my account, Miss Amelia, I've heard the word fuck a time or ten." No highborn stick-in-the-mud, he. Like her own words, though, his are precisely spoken, with only the barest hint of an accent. Kevan nods graciously as she voices her intention not to charge. He drains the last of his mug, pushing it back towards the innkeeper along with another coin. Time for a refill. "Not as far as you might think, actually," Kevan adds, the edge of his mouth curling in amusement. "My home was a village off of Ironman's Bay, about a day's walk west of Oldstones. As for the hawk —" He shrugs. "I apprenticed to a hawker and ravenmaster when I was young. As it turns out, I handle a bird better than a bow."
Amelia dips her head. "I'm sure you have but it not a word I find myself prone to in polite company. There is a time and place for certain words. This is not one for me." She gives him a knowing smile and looks back to the table of sworn while the man talks, but her attention is clearly on listening to Kevan. When he finishes, her eyes fall back to him with a lofted brow. "That's actually interesting! I've never met someone who actually fights with a hawk. Tell me, and I mean no insult by the question, but do you fight purely with the hawk? Or do you find skill with other weapons as well?"
Kevan inclines his head in understanding. "Of course." He chuckles as he reaches for his freshly-filled horn. "The bird helps me hunt, mostly, though she has been known to seek… larger prey. I've found that as much as a man may watch his back, he tends not to expect attack from above." A wolfish smile splits his lips at that. He raises a brow at her question, his mouth tightening, but he doesn't seem to take undue umbrage at it. A hand falls to the blade peace-bonded to his side. "Well, I certainly do not carry a blade merely for show," is his only response.
"Mmm. An interesting point, Ser Kevan." She squints at him in the light of the tavern, her smile playful. "A consideration I do not think many would take to battle. I have heard men talk that oft too much is going on right in front to notice what is all around. Indeed, especially above." She quirk her brow, folding her hands in front of her as she glances to the sword. "Apologies," she laughs. "I have known a few nobles who do just that. After all, it is a status symbol. But then they do not usually travel without sworn escort - like you. My observations fail me, clearly. So of which house do you hold your knee to?"
Kevan remains thin-lipped a moment longer, but finally nods in acceptance of the apology, his features relaxing once more. He shrugs. "For some, yes, it is a status symbol. For me…" His hand taps the pommel of the weapon one last time. "I make my very living on the strength of my arm and the sureness of my steel." Again, he drains his horn, but this time he doesn't immediately motion for a refill. It's his turn to glance over at the table of sworn swords, eyeing them for a moment before continuing. "My knee is bent to none. I am on my way to Stonebridge, to enter my name on the tournament rolls there." He gives her a wry smile. "Hopefully to do well enough to interest some lordling or another in taking my sword into his service for a time." A pause. "I understand there may soon be a demand for strong swords among the Terricks and the Naylands."
Amelia watches the man tap at his sword and she nods. "Ah, so you are.. not a tournament knight? I believe the term can be considered derogatory, though, so I will refrain. Again, a thousand apologies, Ser Kevan." Another deferring dip of her head. But the rest gets a blank look from her. "Potentially. I believe that would depend on who is asking and what their interest is in the matter? Would this potential sword be looking for a fight? Does he represent only himself or a few?" Apparently this whore knows more than she is letting on. Is she a fixer?
There's a derisive grunt from the blond knight. "Tournament knight? No, of course not. I still have my dignity. But I do accept the apology." He's able to recover some of his earlier good humor, giving a short chuckle after his last; the woman may have pushed some of his buttons, however inadvertently, but as long as she's courteous enough to apologize for it, he'll be courteous enough to accept her sincerity. Suddenly, though, his eyes snap to hers as she starts to ask more questions. No dullard is Kevan; he knows what idle conversation sounds like, and this seems to have just took a turn towards something a bit more serious. "I speak only for myself," he replies finally, his voice a touch lower than before. "As for the rest, whatever lies between the Houses, I know not and I care not." He gives her a thin smile. "I will say that I do not shy from a fight, should the opportunity for one be offered me."
There's a derisive grunt from the blond knight. "Tournament knight? No, of course not. I still have my dignity. But I do accept the apology." He's able to recover some of his earlier good humor, giving a short chuckle after his last; the woman may have pushed some of his buttons, however inadvertently, but as long as she's courteous enough to apologize for it, he'll be courteous enough to accept her sincerity. Suddenly, though, his eyes snap to hers as she starts to ask more questions. No dullard is Kevan; he knows what idle conversation sounds like, and this seems to have just took a turn towards something a bit more serious. "I speak only for myself," he replies finally, his voice a touch lower than before. "As for the rest, whatever lies between the Houses, I know not and I care not. I merely seek employment." He gives her a thin smile. "I will say that I do not shy from a fight, should the opportunity for one be offered me."
Amelia listens to the man's explanation with a nod, her own demeanor never changing. Its all conversational to her. She winks to one of the sworn and then turns her body to face Kevan, an arm leaning on the bar. "Mm. Merely employment. Given the choice of a man such as yourself, would you prefer to fight a cause you believed in or one that pays well? I see no shame in either." She's quick to add the last. "A man must absolutely earn his living. No one, noble, knight, or baseborn whore, can survive off good intentions. I think the tourny will offer quite an array of options, though, as what your ears have caught are not necessarily incorrect, Ser Kevan."
Kevan smiles once more. "I thought not." He leans back in his seat, turning away from Amelia only briefly as the innkeeper finally brings the freelance a plate of food. He lays one last coin on the table, which disappears quickly into the palm of the other man. "Causes are for those that can afford to keep them. As you say, principles do not keep a man's belly full." Another shrug. "Perhaps I will not be remembered as Westeros' most honorable knight, but I shall not go down as her poorest, either, and it shan't be because I was choosy about to whom I offered my sword. The tournament should certainly prove… interesting."
"Henry? A plate of rolls, too," Amelia calls to the innkeeper and he nods before disappearing into the back kitchen area. "I don't disagree with that. People must do what they must do, though I have a certain distaste for brigands. Lawless types without honor cause my throat to rise." She rolls her eyes and smiles as Henry returns with the rolls, setting them down. "Help yourself, Ser Kevan. They're fresh." And still steaming from the oven. Returning to the subject at hand, though: "Given the positioning of both houses, I agree. I'll be attending, myself, by request. I have already placed two or three bets upon the joust. I favor m'Young Lord Jaremy Terrick. ..In what events do you wish to compete?"
"My thanks," Kevan murmurs, reaching for one of the rolls. The woman isn't lying; the warm, soft bread nearly melts in his mouth as he chews. Grunting in pleasure, he dips the half-eaten roll in the bowl of stew before him, finishing off the now-soggy thing in one gulp. The hedge knight's brow ticks upward ever so slightly upward at the mention of the the young Terrick lord, but he says nothing of her choice. "I confess I am not the finest lancer you'll see, but I may nevertheless see if I can put a few noble arses on the ground during the jousting." He grins rakishly at that. "And, naturally, the grand melee. I'll match my blade against anyone else's there."
"My pleasure. Sharing the food tends to bring repeat customers. Tis not the best ale around but I'll bend a knee and take an oath of fealty to the rolls." She grins and takes up one for herself, tearing off a small piece and popping it in her mouth. Most whores probably wouldn't be so comfortable hanging around a knighted man unless they were trying to sell themselves. But this woman seems content to just converse playfully. "I'm sure your skills will be more than a match for a few. A man who travels his sword and still walks as you do, by my estimation, is not a poor tactician or fighter." She inclines her head to him in a touch of admiration. "Melee will be something for you to find challenge to. We have a few skilled fighters in the Riverlands. The last saw some excellent pugelism and aggression with fists and blade alike." Another piece of the bread is taken quickly. "Tell me more of your hawk, please?"
Kevan acknowledges her tribute with a laugh and nod of his own. "We shall see. In any case, I find myself looking forward to it." His head cocks to one side. "Pugilism, eh? Well, fists, blades, lances… it's all the same to me." He blinks as the conversation suddenly shifts. "Andra? She's a beautiful bird, a red-tail." Kev smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. "A majestic sight to see when she's on the wing, and a clever girl, to boot. She's been with me through my last twelve name-days, and it remains a thrill to see her dive, to hear her call. I'm sure my words cannot do her justice."
"Well I look forward to seeing you compete on the field, Ser Kevan. As well, here's to your good fortune in finding employment." She lifts a torn piece of bread as if to cheers him. "Though I must put in my own good word about the Terricks. They are a fine people and one worthy of the titles of nobility. But House Nayland will likely make you some offers considerable." She eats the piece of bread and listens to the details of the hawk. "No lie or sale, ser, I would take some awe from seeing her hunt if you could find time and humor to bring me. I love the natural order. Especially the ones of the sky. Such freedom and grace.." She looks a bit dreamy-eyed with the notion of being a hawk.
The blond man inclines his head, picking up another piece of bread and answering her 'salute' with one of his own. He smiles at Amelia's wistful expression; he's had the same feelings himself a time or ten. “I intend to pass another day or two here in the Roost before moving on; I don't believe a hunt would be out of the question. And truly, I think the bird likes the attention.” He bites off a chunk of the roll, chewing thoughtfully. “As I say… Terricks, Naylands, it matters not. I'm sure the Terricks are a fine bunch, but it isn't their nobility that interests me.” He finishes the last few bites of his meal, then leans back in his seat and gives a contented but tired sigh. “And now, Miss Amelia, I would take it as a kindness if you would bid a bed be prepared for me. My weary bones cry for rest.” He rises from his seat, offering the woman an almost courtly half-bow. “I thank you for the company, and the conversation.” With that, he heads off towards the inn's bedrooms, waiting for a chambermaid to lead him to an empty one.