|Summary:||The mighty Barristan finds his way onto the roof of the Tordane stables. It takes quite a bit to get him down.|
|Date:||May 5, 2012|
|Stone Walk — Tordane Tower|
|Set at a slight incline, the stone pathway leads up a slight rise northeast out of the town square towards the single tower of House Tordane. Grass grows thick and plush along the side though it is well maintained. Private shops and stables are located up closer to the manor with the family's private stables attached directly to the exterior wall of the small castle.|
|May 5, 289|
"Barristan!" The shout comes directly after a streak of grey fur zipping out the castle and up the private Tordane stables there attached. His lady stomps around at the base of the stables, imperious and furious at the grey tabby's refusal to listen to her orders. After a good bit of stomping comes the inevitable: "Tommas!"
The following bit of stomping is not angry sort, the big man just has huge and heavy feet. Tommas has been known to move at his own pace and judging by the little lady's yelling being of the petulant sort of important more so than the help-death sort, he seems content to take his time. "M'Lady Rosie?" He wonders cheerfully, eyes bright with easy amusement at his Lady's pique.
Rosanna stands there, hands on her hips, and glares up at the sleek, fluffy tabby, who looks down at her with a lazy sort of indifference. Look, he'll hang here until he feels like coming down. "Barristan is on the stables," Rosanna tells Tommas.
"Aye?" Tommas inquires, looking from Rosanna to the indolant cat and back again. The big man blinks at his lady.
Rosanna turns to look at Tommas with a distinct cinch between her brows. "He's not supposed to be there," she says impatiently.
Lightly scratching his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, Tommas gazes up at the cat in amiable observation. "He certainly looks like he thinks it is a right fine place to be, little Lady. Few hours sun, maybe a few mice. Might do him good."
"But he's not supposed to be out, Tommas," Rosanna says, her tone coming closer to a whine. She looks up (and up and up) at him with those big brown eyes and says, "You have to get him down."
Attack of the big brown eyes — it is super effective: Tommas is weak to animals and little ladies with big doe eyes, especially ones who's name starts with 'R.' Screwing up his face a little, he briefly places his mitt of a hand atop Rosie's head in a gentle pat, light as one would do for a kitten. "Alright little lass, we'll see about getting your wee cat down. I still say a few birds'd do him some good, ain't natural for a warrior to lay about like that," he replies lightly.
Rosanna's smile peeks out warm and pleased at Tommas's assent to her blatant manipulation. She does not say thank you, because a lady does not thank her sworn sword for doing his duty, but her manner does change quickly to something more cheerful. "Good."
Blowing out a bit of a sigh, coupled with an affectionate smile, the big man steps forward to move closer to the stable and the cat's lackadaisical stance atop it's roof. Tommas eyes the feline for an instant before abruptly swinging an arm up to try and snare the puss-cat by its scruff.
Barristan is not so weak a warrior to be so easily caught. He watches Tommas with an impassive feline glare before darting back at the last moment with a disgruntled, unimpressed hiss. You stop that. Rosanna, all anxious way down at the bottom, says, "Don't hurt him!"
Poor Tommas. Always having to grab all the things off all the high places—especially the ones reluctant to come down. "You missed," comes a comment from the peanut gallery of Merel, showing up and stopping to watch what's happening with a tilt of her head…and point out the obvious, apparently.
"I am not going to hurt your little Lord," Tommas grumbles cheerfully as he flops a hand around the roof like a dying seal groping for Barristan. His reach is good, but the cat can climb higher. His heavy brow rises at the peanut gallery comments, glancing back over his shoulder to look towards Merel. "Heya wildcat. I could use a mite of assistance of you, if you're not busy?" Pulling his hand away down from the roof, he eyes his ward consideringly. "Day doesn't have you running anywhere, does she?"
Rosanna glances over at Merel at the comment and wrinkles her nose delicately. How surprising that she does not historically care for Tommas's feral little ward. "If I need help it's more important than if Day needs help," she says with a sniff to the knight. Barristan's tail flicks lazily, just out of reach of Tommas's reach.
That's okay, the feelings seem to be mutual. Merel glances sideways at the Lady Rosanna and stops just short of rolling her eyes as she looks back at Tommas. "No," she answers the first question and then follows it after a deliberate pause with another, "…No." Maybe Day has her running around, but more likely Merel was just pausing to make Rosanna wait a little longer, even a moment.
"I think the import your Septa's business might depend on just what she is doing there, little lady. You wouldn't want to stop her in the middle of something she's putting together for you, now would ya?" Tommas chides gently, brushing his hands against his doublet as he looks to his Lady with a cant of brows and a toothy smile. The smile shades fond as he turns it towards Merel and cocks his head to the side, invitationally. "Alright then, wildcat. I think this roof is liable to handle you a mite better than it'll take my weight." Please? "Plus you move quicker than a wetland squirrel."
"Well. If it's something about my nameday, she should do that," Rosanna agrees, continuing the pattern of not addressing Merel directly. She frowns rather distinctly at the fond cast of Tommas's smile as he turns it on the other girl. "Tell her not to hurt him," she orders her sworn. The lot of them stand at the base of the Tordane private stables, where a large, long-haired, grey tabby sits atop of, just out of reach of even the mountainous Ser Tommas.
Up the path strides one Ser Farrell Keane, whistling a terribly off-key tune to himself while he ascends his way to the tower. He takes note of the bunch surrounding the stables, quirking a brow as he makes his way over to them with a slight smile.
This time Merel does roll her eyes, but it's not like Rosanna is looking anyway, right? "You'd break the roof," she agrees with Tommas, making a face which is half a small smile and half wrinkling her nose, which is more-or-less her version of fond. "Alright," she then agrees, walking over to Tommas by the roof where the cat has gotten to and peering up…and up and up.
"Scare the lights right out of all those horses. Our host would be right displeasured at it," Tommas replies, corners of his eyes crinkling with the spread of his smile. His big hands are cupped to provide a step for Merel's feet and he bends low so she can crawl up into them, then be lifted up to the roof. "Aye. I think she heard you, Lady Rosanna," he calls back to the Groves maid, turning and winking conspiratorially at his charge. "You heard the Lady Groves, Wildcat. It's a cat and not a squirrel."
"And tell her not to do anything that would embarrass us," Rosanna adds to Tommas, now that he's mentioned their hosts. She doesn't take immediate not of Farrell, but she's focused on the grey tabby escaping 'rescue,' and she's not one to notice commoners, anyways. Snob.
Kittridge strides up the path from the town square, breaking off to head toward the stables rather than the tower. He walks quickly, long strides eating up ground, and doesn't seem to notice the group he's headed towards or how many among it are of his own house. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his eyes focused on the flagstones a few feet ahead of him as he goes.
"M'lady, Master, Mistress," Farrell greets to each of those surrounding the stables in turn, standing nearby as he peers up at what everyone else is looking at. "Forgive my proddin', but I don't suppose I can ask what exactly all of you are doin'?" he asks with genuine curiosity, blinking up at whatever they're staring at.
"Not as much as the horses," Merel replies making a gesture that is supposed to indicate rearing and stampeding horses before stepping into Tommas' cupped hands easily. "Yes Ser," she states with a nod, overly serious but with a twitch of a smile for his wink. "Not a squirrel." New arrivals get a glance and a nod, but she's Focused.
Merel's horse fingers earn a low chuckle. "Not a squirrel, that's right." Gently as lifting a baby or a kitten, the giant carefully lifts his charge up and settles her high enough that she might easy walk out onto the roof. There. He flashes her a big of a smile as she scampers off. The new fellow's greeting is met with a congenial, "Ser." Tommas's eyes going directly to the sword at the unknown man's belt with a sharp look, then flit towards Kittridge's serious strides. "My Lord Kitt," he calls.
Rosanna's glance at Farrell is more exasperated than anything else, and she lifts her chin and doesn't reply. Clearly that is for her retainers to do. Her brother's appearance gets more of a response. "Barristan got out," she says with a hint of a whine, clearly expecting her brother to stop everything and attend to her in such a trying time as this.
"That so, M'lady?" asks Farrell absent-mindedly, a little grin at the edge of his mouth as he remains content to stand and watch for now.
Kittridge has no intention of attending his sister, it appears. He looks up at her voice, and Tommas's, and frowns, looking confused for a moment as if he hadn't really noticed them or heard what they said and needs a moment to rewind. "Not now," he says simply, and then, with a gesture towards the big knight, "Tommas will get him." He shakes his head and strides on into the stables.
"I won't shoot it, then." It's a joke! She would never. So up onto the stables roof Merel goes, stepping quickly out of Tommas' hands and onto the roof proper after Barristan. Heeere kitty, kitty. Please don't run. Briefly, she glances down at those still on the ground, particularly given Kittridge's…mood or whatever.
"Good plan, aye." It might be a joke? She would likely, but Tommas doesn't seem terribly worried about it at the moment. The Groves knight rocks lightly back on his heels, smile easy as he regards Farrell…and distinctly less so as he watches Kittridge head for the stables. "Aye, m'Lord." He will. He shoots the Lady Rosanna a bright smile as her brother disappears, offering a, "I heard he might be off in town this morning, like as not it didn't go too well."
"Kiiiiit," Rosanna whines, watching her brother stride right past her. "Where are you going?" She audibly gasps at Merel's joke and finally addresses her directly to exclaim, "Don't you dare!" Barristan eyes Merel warily, fur bristling, and rumbles a low, warning cat-growl.
Well, Merel is visibly unarmed, so it's probably a safe bet she isn't shooting /anything/ just now anyway. Doesn't stop her from briefly mimicking pulling an arrow back and shooting. Cough. All business again, she reaches a hand out to drum her fingers lightly against the rooftop—like a cat toy. C'mere.
"Stables," Tommas notes idly of Kittridge's exit to his questioning Lady. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes, trying to get a better look at what Merel is doing up on that rooftop. Her false draw of a bow causes a low checkle to rumble up from his throat.
Huffing an indignant breath as her brother so boldly ignores her, Rosanna glares at the stables that Kittridge so recently disappeared into. She finally looks back up, gnawing on her bottom lip, to try to watch Merel. Barristan is patently unimpressed with fingers drumming on the rooftop. He is a real hunter. He is not so easily tricked.
Crouched on the rooftop, Merel sighs. Oh well. It was worth a try? In a move that will probably not comfort Rosanna down below, she instead quickly tries to make a grab for that cat. That will probably go well. Uhm.
"So, where do you hail from, Ser?" Tommas wonders, shifting his gaze from Merel atop the roof to the unknown swordsman. "I can't say that I've seen you here before." He eases back from his position near the the stables, to stand beside his lady, physically acting as a barrier as he smiles and offers, "I am Ser Tommas Belte of Groves, this here is the Lady Rosanna Groves; the wee bit on the roof is Merel." Sorry wildcat.
"Flint's Fingers, but that was nearly 14 years ago. I'm a free lance, Master, looking for work," explains Farrell conversationally with Tommas, his eyes following the girl attempting to reach the cat. "Ser Farrell Keane. Pleasure's all mine, M'lady Groves, Ser Tommas. Are you sure the Mistress will be alright up there? I've climbed a tree or two in my day."
Rosanna squeaks a little when Merel darts for the cat, shifting anxiously on her feet and utterly ignoring the common-born knight she's being introduced to. Clearly she trusts Tommas to have it all under control. Barristan is quick and fearsome as his namesake, darting quickly back to the edge of the stables and away from Merel's first try. At least he doesn't maul her arm.
Merel would wave and at least acknowledge the introduction, but she's a bit busy being out-catted. So, at least she has an excuse for being rude. This time. Barristan darts away and she doesn't chase to the edge of the roof. Instead, she looks for whatever natural debris or loose bits of whatever are nearby and tosses one away from the edge. It's just a distraction, not aimed at the grey tabby. Go, mighty hunter?
Large fingers gently rest atop Rosanna's shoulder as she squeaks, Tommas's gaze slipping towards the roof in momentary worry that may not entirely be for the cat. It's alright, Rosie. Don't fall, Merel. "Aye, I think the lass has seen more of the trees that you have, Ser." To put it lightly. He grins a bit at the other man, a chuckle rumbling up from his barrel chest. "You're a long way down from the Fingers. I don't know of anyone who is looking for an extra blade at the moment. Ser Anders Flint rode in with the Ironborn, you might do well to speak with him…if you're looking to rejoin the Northerners?"
"My father was a guardsman. He was caught taking a bribe 14 years ago - you'll find that isn't a coincidence - not entirely uncommon in the Fingers, but a noble lady saw him. They threw me out, too, for being his son," Farrell retells, though without any strain of resentment or anger at the fact, his smile still remaining as he watches Marel. "Perhaps they don't hold grudges, and I can ask anyway. Thank you for the advice, Ser Tommas, but any work I do with them will be by contract with an expiration date."
Barristan's ears dart forward towards the sound of that tinkling debris that sounds away from Merel. His attention is caught, body coiling in potential for action. Rosanna watches with bated breath, seeing as this is all very dramatic and important.
Ah, there's the mighty hunter. Merel quietly creeps toward Barristan while he's distracted. She tosses another another bit of something same as the first so he doesn't get bored. It is epic.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Merel=Stealth Vs Barristan=Awareness
< Merel: Success Barristan: Success
< Net Result: DRAW
"Aye. That'd do it alright…" Tommas replies, not sounding surprised at that or particularly sympathetic in response to that news. "Low blow in all. Well, there are a fair number of houses in town. Mayhaps you'll find work with one of them." He turns from the hedge knight towards the roof with a wry look at Merel and the cat. "You need me to come up there, lass?"
Barristan darts towards the noise, but almost immediately turns back around to face Merel. HEY. HE'S ONTO YOU.
"I could take care of it, you know. I'll even give you a discount as a first time customer. Cat rescuin' is one of our more popular services, Ser Tommas," offers Farrell, actually not sounding like he's joking at all as he looks up at the roof. "Don't show any fear, young mistress! HE CAN SMELL IT!"
"You'd still break the roof," Merel calls back to Tommas, glancing his way. She has NO IDEA what you think you're onto, Barristan. Look, she's not even paying attention to you. Really. Ahem. "I am not afraid of a cat," she says flatly. Please.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Merel=Presence Vs Barristan=Awareness
< Merel: Failure Barristan: Success
< Net Result: Barristan wins - Marginal Victory
"So long as you don't break your head!" Tommas calls back teasingly, low chuckle rumbling up from his throat. Just get the cat, Merel. The sneaky cat. Day must have been giving it lessons.
Barristan doesn't believe Merel's feigned indifference. He stretches out in a coil of grey limbs, but he doesn't stop watching her. Rosanna starts to get impatient. "It's not that hard," says she who has certainly never had to climb on top of a roof to retrieve him.
He casts an amused look towards the hedge knight. "You do offer odd services, Ser." (Tommas)
"Even hedge knights need to eat, Ser Tommas. Man never got rich passin' up opportunities," wisely counsels Ser Farrell of his knightly compatriot. He nods his head then to Rosanna. "As I said, M'lady, I /am/ a professional," he pitches proudly, beaming a winning smile.
"I go off for three minutes to make some /real/ deals and you're over here dicking with cats!" Lorcan exclaims as he makes his way up the incline to join Farrell. When it becomes clear Farrell is attempting to sell services, he puts on his serious business face. "He's most definitely a professional, m'Lady." Then he quietly asides to Farrell, "What are you offering to do?"
"Are you volunteering to come up here?" Is aimed at Rosanna, who is the only one not volunteering to try and get the cat. Merel grumbles under her breath before scrambling to make a grab at the tabby again, who is just taunting with that stretch.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Merel=Body Vs Barristan=Reaction
< Merel: Success Barristan: Failure
< Net Result: Merel wins - Marginal Victory
"Be that as it is…You can mind your language, Master," Tommas notes protectively, looming at least a clean head over the other men and built like an oxen. He casts a hard look in Lorcan's direction at his address to the Lady Groves. The large knight is clad in Groves colours, his hand settling around the oversized hammer that rests in his belt.
"I am not hiring some common sellsword to retrieve my cat," Rosanna says, finally deigning to speak to the non-Groves commoners. She looks to them with a highly indignant look for even suggesting it. Barristan tries to dart away, but this time he is not so lucky: Merel gets a good hold on him. He does get swipey, though. Bad cat.
"Apologies for him, Ser Tommas," Farrell replies to the other man, not looking the least bit impressed by his show of intimidation and in fact shrugging at it. "My associate, Ser Lorcan Bluekite. He comes from a coarser way than mine - I'm sure he'll refrain in the future, won't he?" queries Farrell pointedly as he glances to Lorcan, before looking toward Rosanna with a polite smile. "Forgive me, M'lady, but I was knighted five years ago durin' the Battle of the Bells," he corrects as non-intrusively as he can manage, breathing a sigh as he looks up to the girl. "May have missed my chance, anyhow."
Lorcan eyes Tommas, either unable to see the oxen-like threat before him or simply too cheery as he grins and nods. "Begging your pardon, m'Lord." Then Farrell lectures him and his silly grin fades. "All right all right, flames. They got the cat. Ought we go find other cats to save now?" His tone is unreadable.
Very bat cat. Merel endures the swiping and resulting scratches with resignation, but she holds tight. Do your worst Barristan, she's not letting you go. She does adjust her grip once she's got him to something more comfortable than just being grabby. "I've got him," she says, standing at the edge of the roof.
The stiffness in Tommas's posture eases with the paired apologies and he flashes the men an easier smile for it. "Well met, Ser Bluekite…I'm sure he will. Lady Groves, it's unkind to disregard a knight of the realm so." Despite the amiability of the two knights, he is loath to give up his position by his lady's side and gently herds Rosanna towards the stables as Merel emerges VICTORIOUS with Barristan — Ser Cat. "There, you see little lady?" He says to the Groves with a flit of a grin. "Well done, Merel!" He calls, letting the flit curve into something wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes; moving to lift his arms up so his charge can climb into them and he can return her safely to the ground.
Rosanna sniffs at Tommas's chide, but all she says in acknowledgment of it is, "Sers." Look, she called them knights! She is drawn quickly back to the stables when her sworn guides her, though, eager to be reunited with the scrabbly Barristan.
Farrell chuckles at Rosanna's response, though he does give a few claps when Merel catches the feline. "Well done, Mistress! Practice a bit more and I'm sure you'll be able to catch it in under a minute." Farrell snickers at Lorcan's direction, shaking his head, "Don't look down on it so much, Lorcan. If we caught fifty or so of those a day, we'd never have to work again a day in our lives."
"That would indeed be the life." Lorcan links his hands at his back, watching the heart-warming reunion. "Well isn't that sweet as…" He stops another carefree curse and furrows his brow. "Isn't that sweet." Rosanna's acknowledgement gets a nod. "When are we heading to the Roost?" he asks of Farrell.
"He should be better socialized," Merel says of scratchy Barristan. She even says it with a straight face. She carefully climbs into Tommas's outstretched arms, which is a bit more difficult than climbing out of them because of the cat. "I'm sure there's a great market for fetching lost cats," she deadpans.
"Ta Merel," Tommas replies with a chuckle, sweeping the lass down from the roof in an easy motion. No? Nothing funny about that. He removes the baleful Barristan from her grasp, setting Merel atop the crook of his shoulder so that he can hand the cat off to Rosanna. "Now don't you be letting go of him till we're back in the Tower, my little Lady," he instructs firmly, if warmly.
Rosanna hugs Barristan immediately to her chest, where he curls and almost immediately begins to purr. What a little snot. "He's perfectly socialized," she says with another sniff before she turns to head off back towards the Tower.
There is a patient smile from Tommas at the Lady Rosanna's reply, but he only pauses long enough to offer, "Good Day, Sers." Then he too is following his lady back to the Tower with Merel still perched on his shoudler like a wee bird.
Merel is happy enough to hand Barristan over to Tommas as well as be sat on his shoulder. "Sure he is," she murmurs, examining her scratches from her perch up high. The two knights get an absent-minded half-wave as the Groves party all exits.
"You'd be surprised, Mistress," Farrell retorts to Merel, giving a sigh as he pats Lorcan's shoulder. "That's all the business for us stolen away. We might as well go look for more lost animals," he suggests as he begins to mosey on back down the hill.
"Do I look like I'm about to climb trees to fetch a wayward pet? I'd sooner make Tamsyn do it, she's a stringy thing," Lorcan shakes his head and turns to head back down the incline.