Page 292: Seeking Employment
Seeking Employment
Summary: Ser Farrell Keane and Tamsyn Teller crash a casual conversation between nobles, including Aleister Charlton, Tiaryn Flint, Ilaria Haigh, and Anais Terrick. Eventually, Annaliss Norwood and Lorcan Bluekite come around.
Date: 08/05/2012
Related Logs: None
Farrell Tamsyn Lorcan Aleister Liss Ilaria Anais Tiaryn 
Crane's Crossing Inn
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.
May 7th, 289 A.L.

One Ser Farrell Keane is the next to enter the establishment, certainly a part of the more common rabble but at least a knight. He walks in casually enough, narrow eyes glancing to and fro for anyone he might recognize before he bites his lip a bit and shrugs, making his way inside and looking for an empty table.

Anais flashes a smile at Tiaryn's words, laughing. "My lady, we would never stoop to such levels to bring visitors to the Roost, I assure you," she grins. "I suspect Justin was distracted by other thoughts. I can't imagine how he could have missed the presence of a harp otherwise. Honestly, Lady Tiaryn, it's as though you're fogging the minds of the men around you," she winks to the other woman.

This common rabble is not a knight, but dogs Ser Farrell's heels, nevertheless. Petite in size, barely scraping five feet total, Tamsyn is slim and might pass for a very pretty boy if the cut of her hair and clothing is all one observes. The sleeves of her undershirt are rolled back from forearms lightly scattered with thin scars, and her hands work a small, battered blade over a whetstone.

Now wouldn't that be a trick? Alas, if she has such powers, Tia has no idea how to make them work when she wants to. She finishes her tea, and then glances around. Ale, that's what she's thinking would be tasty, certainly. She grins at Anais' reaction to her teasing, and return tease. "One might only hope," she replies, a little wryly. "But alas, I am no such enchantress. Which does lead me to wonder just what is affecting them all. Perhaps it is the full moon?"

The opening of the door and the entry of others into the Crane draws Aleister's attention as he moves back towards the table and as his eyes play over the two that make their way in, there's a slight narrowing of his eyes and another scowl, one that comes with a shake of his head. It's only when he nears the table that Tia and Anais are at that he's offering, "See, what I did tell you. This place feeds one Rat and more come waltzing in." And there's even a tick of his head towards the entrance as he claims his seat. "You do have my apologizes, though."

Farrell pauses as he takes note of the peculiar follower seemingly for the first time, arching a brow toward her. "Ah, you again. Thought you'd have stayed back with Bluekite over at the camp by the Roost. You'll probably get thrown out of to wander off in here on your own, might as well stick with me," Farrell suggests with a shrug, as if he has no choice in the matter while he makes his way for an empty table and takes a load off in a chair there, throwing his feet up on a neighboring chair and leaning back. "I'm barely good enough for this place as is, tho'. Shame, don't see any good prospects. The usual self-concerned bunch, don't know why I bother comin' here."

"Mmm, I suppose the full moon is a possibility," Anais allows with a small smile. She glances toward the door at Aleister's complaint, though something in what Farrell says catches her attention, head tilting slightly as though to hear better. "It is a tavern as well as an inn, Lord Charlton," she points out, a dry note in her voice that could be amusement. "It's my understanding that they cater to those who can pay them for their services. In this manner, the inn creates revenue, which in turn flows to the coffers of the lords." She arches a pale brow, and this time there is a faint smile there. "As rich as I've heard the Charltons are, I'd have thought you were familiar with the process. Pity. I'd been trying to draw a list of potential lenders for the Roost."

"Would, but he's gettin' cranky with me. Doesn't much like me makin' him choke down the teas that'll keep him from up an' dyin' of fever," Tamsyn mutters even as her amber eyes scan the unfamiliar sights of the common room of the 'posh' inn. "Well, can't complain too much, could they? I bathed'n stuff." She did! Not a bit of grime, muck, or dirt on her, not on her breeches, vest, or shirt. She lingers by the table Farrell seats himself at, glancing over one of the chairs with a wary gaze before settling in it. Lifting her feet from the floor, she instead sits in the chair with folded legs and contains running the little blade over the smooth surface of the stone in her hands. "S'nobles, Ser, what didja expect, exactly? 'Sides, you never know. They at least have all the money, right? They might need ya for somethin'."

Tia grins at Anais, and nods. There, that's the answer. Even if it's not the full moon at all. She listens to Anais' reply to Aleister, her eyes dancing. Finally she turns to her meal again, nibbling, each movement a bit stiff. She'll not miss her harp today it seems, since she'd likely not be able to play it anyway. "Something interesting?" she asks though, as she catches that head tilt, her own words softly softly spoken. She herself then speaks up a bit to Aleister. "There is a big sign at the door too, that does advertise the tavern and inn, for all to enjoy," she suggests, just to add to the trouble the ladies are causing the noble knight for deserting them, even if only momentarily.

There's a cluck of his tongue at Anais and a shake of Aleister's head before he's offering, "Not entirely true, Lady Terrick. The Crane caters to the nobility, primarily. It is why so many of us are willing to make use of the rooms that are provided here." Now, a grunt escapes past his lips as he gives another shake of his head, "And, I'm quite familiar with the process, my Lady. When you have a common house for the rabble, they should make use of it. It is why it's there, after all, and it's ~far~ better for business." Tia's interjection into the conversation draws a flit of his eyes in her direction so that he can give a quick smirk and another grunt, "Ugh. Not you too, Lady Tiaryn." There is a hint of humor contained in those words though.

"Some are better'n others. Some are worse'n others. Some are /far/ worse'n others," speaks Farrell from experience, giving a grin to Tamsyn as she sharpens her knife. "Why, just a few moments ago, I was talkin' to the Cap'n of the guard, Ser Kamron Mallister, M'lady Danae Tordane an' M'lady….Saffron Banefort, was it? Jus politely edged my way in and talked to'em. They didn't try to throw me in the stocks or glare at me or nothin'. Ser Mallister even got us a solid line on work, and Lady Banefort said she'd talk to some Terrick Lady to see if she needed any help. Anais, I believe?"

"I'm rather fond of common houses, personally," Anais notes, taking a bite out of a strawberry with a challenging arch of her brow for Aleister. "They're full of interesting people who know things I don't. Like…" She trails off, glancing toward Farrell and Tamsyn. "My name apparently." Intrigued, she takes a piece of bread with some cheese and hard sausage on it as she slips out of her chair. "If you'll excuse me a moment?"

"Aye, well, that ain't been my experience. S'all, Ser." Her eyes dart over the assembled nobility with a guarded expression, watching them with some small sense of subtlety. Tamsyn slips the dagger into the top of her boot, the whetstone into the worn leather satchel slung across her narrow shoulders. She can't make out the conversation beyond piece meal, but the tone and body language is not welcoming. At least from certain folk. And Tamsyn, by nature rather than fear, hunches down in her seat to appear smaller. "Maybe so, Ser, but I ain't much worried about it either way. Rather not know which is which. Could get you in more trouble than s'worth. S'pose that's why you have more money'n I do."

Tia chuckles at Aleister's reaction, and puts her hands up, since she really was just poking gently. "Why not me?" she asks, letting her amusement continue to show. "I mean, I do occasionally have a thought of my own." She then blinks, her gaze going to Anais curiously. "So they do," she murmurs, after a moment. "Of course, Lady Anais, by all means. I suppose we shall keep an eye on things, and Lord Aleister can intimidate any that need it?" Well, at least she's sure she won't be doing any intimidating. Or charming, what with being without her harp.

Looking back to Anais, Aleister gives a slight nod of his head, "Indeed, they are. Along with a ton of filth and disgusting smells. But, if that's what you like .." He ends the thought with a shrug of his shoulders a nod of his head as the Lady Terrick asks to be excused. Looking back to Tiaryn, the smirk remains upon his lips as he offers, "Because, I'll have to have the Northerner lock you in a tower or something, Lady Tiaryn." It's clear that he's joking, for there's the hint of a smile that lasts a moment, "But, I'm afraid intimdating will need to wait for another day. I must take my leave, as well, to tend to some other things." And with that, he begins to rise from his spot at the table.

"Well, maybe if you got some fresh clothin', clean you up a bit, and you'll be all prim an' proper an' they wouldn't mind talking to you at all! Jus'…mind yer manners, Tammy. That's all it takes," Farrell advises with a grin, glancing over as the table of nobles starts to disperse. "Some are interested, some are all, 'I'll just ask my guardsman to take care of it!'," Farrell explains, in an absolutely horrible noble accent.

"I never ask Kincaid to do anything important," Anais announces to Farrell as she approaches the pair at the other table, grin flashing. "He's utterly useless." The red-haired guard in Terrick colors at a table with a short, slender girl - the pair engaged in a game of cards - snorts at that comment, though he smirks as well. "Forgive me for interrupting," Anais continues, looking to Tamsyn as well, smile still in place. "But I thought I heard a few names I knew. Including my own. I'm Lady Anais Terrick."

One noble leaves, one noble enters. Heolla holds the door open for Ilaria who is nose-deep in her book as she blindly crosses the threshold led by a light touch on the forearm from her Septa. The robed older woman leads the young lady toward an empty table smack in the midst of the rabble, and neither Ilaria nor her entourage seem perturbed by the view. Indeed, the rousing group seem to pull her out of her imaginary wanderings to blink up at them owlishly.
Farell's accent is striking, and the girl bursts into a round of giggles as she settles into a seat pulled out by her handmaiden. After sending the girl off to fetch drinks, she turns a bit in her chair to listen to the conversations happening around her while idly thumbing through the pages of her book.

"M'clothes are /fine/, Ser. I washed 'em jus' today, and I fixed 'em and…" Her voice trails away at the approach of the vastly better dressed, better mannered, and generally better groomed Lady Anais. Tamsyn doesn't balk, but she blinks up at Anais owlishly, lips slightly parted, as if puzzled why the noblewoman would approach. "Wasn't uh.. Interruptin' nothin', m'Lady." Her voice, light and airy, sounds awkward as if unaccustomed to such formal pleasantries. And the laugh from the smaller, younger noble lady causes Tamsyn to gruffly clear her throat. "Nah, we're jus' here so that Ser Farrell can get some work."

Tia inclines her head to Aleister as he heads out. "Don't tell Lord Anders to lock me in a Tower! I'd have to lure a handsome knight to come rescue me by playing music on the harp that Lord Justin has." She stops there, even if the story is getting quite convoluted. "Good day to you, m'Lord. I hope to speak with you again." This leaves Tia at the table on her own now, though her maid and guard are nearby. She very cautiously and stiffly turns to watch Anais and the folk she's talking to, curiously. Ilaria's entry is noted, only as Tia was watching Aleister's departure but it takes a moment or two for her to catch on. So she offers the other woman a nod and a smile, but doesn't disturb her otherwise.

"I'm not sayin' it's terrible! Jus'…it could be a bit more presentable for the noble types. Look at one of their handmaidens, look like them. They're comfortable around those sorts," Farrell attempts to repair that comment, grinning at Tamsyn and blinking as Anais approaches. He offers her a quick smile and a bow of his head, rising from his chair as he does. "M'lady Terrick. Ser Farrell Keane, free lance. Quite odd t'see you, actually, I was jus' sayin' how I met a friend of yours, M'lady Saffron Banefort, and she suggested you. I'm lookin' for work, y'see. This is an…associate of mine, Mistress Tamsyn Teller."

When the greetings take place, Ilaria glances away. She has heard the names before, although the last - Tamsyn's - does catch her attention long enough to size the aforementioned women up from toe to head. Still, she has made note of Tiaryn's presence, and it is toward the Lady Flint that she looks a second time with a cheerful smile. "I had heard you took a spill, my lady," she calls to Tiaryn, iniatiating conversation while rising up from her chair to approach Tia's table. "But I was assured you were recovering quickly, and I am glad to see it is the truth. Was it truly a fall from a horse like I have heard?"

"Lady Saffron is my cousin, and dear friend," Anais smiles easily to Farrell, then gestures to a chair, starting to pull it out. "Do you mind if I join the two of you? The Roost may be looking for swords, but I'd like to get to know you a bit before I make any promises." She does wait for an invitation, though in the meantime she takes a bite of the makeshift sandwich, pausing to look at Tamsyn a little more closely.

Tia smiles as Ilaria approaches. "It is good to see you, Lady Ilaria," she says first, just keeping an eye on Anais, and her new found acquaintances. "It - a spill from a horse? Might I ask where you heard that from?" she says curiously. "It was not - I was standing on my own two feet when the horse rammed the knight who rammed the guard, and I ended up getting the worst of it. It is for the most part minor, though my knee is still not wanting me to use it." She pauses, as she considers. "And how have you been?"

The small woman, barely larger than a teenage girl despite clearly being older than that, balks at the closer study. It makes her turn amber eyes on her hands, studying them closely to make sure she's gotten the dirt out from under her nails. "Uh, if you want to n'all, my Lady." Finding nothing under her short, blunted nails, Tamsyn drops her hands uselessly to her lap. "I ain't dressin' like that, Ser, or I wouldn't be of any use. You ever see someone climb in that kinda thing? How 'bout hunt?" And then, she remembers Anais is there. "Not that uh.. There's anythin' wrong with the way ya dress, my Lady. Really. It just ain't my sort of style. I ain't much of a sword, I do other things. Mostly for Ser Lorcan and Ser Farrell, here."

"Ah, certainly," Farrell notes to Anais, moving around to pull out a chair for her so that she may settle in, wearing the most friendly smile he can muster. "Your cousin, M'lady? I hadn't heard. I was talkin' to Ser Kamron about the banditry issues and she was nearby, so she mentioned your name. What would you like to ask us, M'lady?" queries Farrell, who will settle Anais in to the table as gentlemanly as possible before he retakes his seat.

He grins over to Tamsyn. "Just…when you're in town. You'll be surprised how effective it is at talkin' to folk when you don't look like you've been in the wood for two weeks."

"Oh no," Anais waves a hand to Tamsyn, settling into the chair with another bite of her sandwich. "You're right. Dresses and gowns are pretty much only acceptable for hawking, and even then it's with gloves and capes and all sorts of other nonsense meant to protect the dress. Although a gown with fitted arms doesn't interfere terribly with archery, at least." There's a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes. "Climbing, though, is certainly a task best done in pants. And swimming in less than that. But Ser Farrell has the right of it," she adds. "People see what they're shown, and believe what they see. Sometimes perceptions are more useful than the truth." The knight gets her full attention, then, head tilting slightly. "What would you like to tell me, Ser Farrell?"

Tamsyn Teller is not about to argue the finer points of clothing choice with a Lady, especially since she isn't here to get hired. Instead, the woman doesn't reply, nodding along with the Lady's words in quietude as her fingers pluck another chunk of willow bark from her satchel. The newly sharped knife is acquired from the top of her boot and she begins the slow process of cutting fine shavings from it atop the table. Ser Farrell can handle the business end of the deal, here.

Ilaria clasps her hands in front of her, listening with knitted brows in concern as Tiaryn recites the story. The girl bobs her head with each link in the chain that connects Tiaryn to a 'horse accident', but she is left frowning lightly in puzzlement. "Well," the girl replies slowly, deliberately choosing her words, "I cannot honestly pinpoint the /source/ of such a rumor. I could have easily misunderstood someone along the way, or—well, but I had thought it best to ask you anyway. It's proof enough that one must'nt buy into rumors. I am glad to see that you are quite well after all."

"True enough that. The rumour is however perhaps more believable than what really happened," Tia says. She'd shake her head, but that would still hurt. She chuckles softly by now finished what she wants to eat, and drink, mostly. She takes a breath and moves to get to her feet, her left leg still not really wanting to bear weight on it. She winces, as she stands, and Jacob makes it over to her side in an instant. "I think my knee is the worst of it," she admits. "But it's getting better already." She is an optimist.

"Ah, forgive Mistress Teller. I guess she's a 'lil shy, not used to dealin' with nobility. I certainly have, tho'," Farrell admits with a quick grin to Anais, giving her a nod as he thinks for a moment. "Well, M'lady, I'm a hedge knight to use the coarser terms. I was knighted during the Battle of the Bells five years ago by Ser Cormac Bolton. I fought with the king's army against the Greyjoys recently. I was a guardsman for the Flints until I was twenty, then…a sellsword for the next eight. I've been a wanderin' knight for the last five, and it suits me well. Mistress Teller travels with us to help, and my associate is Ser Lorcan Bluekite. He was over by the Roost last I heard."

"Bolton," Anais echoes, and before she can ask again, he names the Flints, and a smile touches one corner of her lips. "The Northerners, then. And Lord Flint and his lady wife weren't interested in taking you on again, or did you simply decide you preferred not to wake up with ice in your beard?" She doesn't seem bothered by Tamsyn's silence, though she does glance over to watch the carving every now and then.

"Ain't that I'm shy. M'not really shy at all, just ain't got much t'say that would likely interest a Lady." A couple of more shavings are hewn from the willow bark into a small pile on the top of the table. She regards it thoughtfully, as if weighing mentally, before continuing. "I mean, maybe I got some skills she—er, you, my Lady, might be interested in, but I ain't much worried about money, usually," Tamsyn murmurs, eyes on her work. Likely to avoid cutting her fingers, that knife looks sharp.

Ilaria smiles fondly at Tiaryn's light-hearted dismissal of the incident. It speaks to the lady's strength, in any case. "Are you leaving, then?" she inquires as one of Tiaryn's men appear at her elbow. "I was just looking to retire myself, if you would like an escort to your quarters, my lady. Heolla, come help the Lady Flint up to her quarters - mind the knee," she calls out to her tawny handmaiden, beckoning the girl over. Grudgingly, Septa Shiella heaves herself out of her chair to follow suit, squinting at Tiaryn.

"My father was also a guardsman, he was caught takin' a bribe. Not uncommon in Flint's Fingers, M'lady, but he was noticed by someone important. They threw me out for bein' his son. Being a guard was a only life I knew, and there was nothin' left for me up there after that. So I came to the Riverlands, and I've been here since," honestly explains Farrell, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning faintly. "Might've been easier to lie, M'lady, but I don't see the point. Tho' I will admit, I prefer the warmth to the ice in my beard." Tamsyn earns a chortle and a shrug, "As you like it, Tammy."

Tia certainly doesn't want anyone to get flogged for it, so she's making light of it. Just in case. "Indeed, I believe it is time to elevate my knee again. You might want to go up first, as I am quite slow." Jacob is there to help, and Tia is leaning on him quite solidly, as she limps over to the stairs. "But we shall follow after you, and if you wish to come join me for a bit, you are welcome. Do you know - I think I have bruises on places I didn't think possible. Including even my elbow." Her words trail off as she has to stop talking to concentrate on making her way up the stairs one at a time, and then off to her room.

And somewhere in there, if she can catch Anais' attention, Tia waves to her, to let her know where she's going.

Ilaria leads the way for Tiaryn, and behind the group follows her handmaiden and Septa. "I have heard that in such situations, you often learn more about your anatomy than you ever thought you'd know," she supplies to Tiaryn over her shoulder, and her voice fades as she disappears on the second floor.

"How do you know what might interest me?" Anais asks Tamsyn, smile quirking again. "You might be surprised." She looks up at Tia's wave, returning it with a wiggle of her fingers before she looks back to Farrell. "What sort of weapons do you favor, Ser Farrell?" she asks, finishing off her sandwich and brushing her hands off to the side so that crumbs don't fall on her skirts.

"I can use a lance, spear or a mace, fight with my hands and even pluck a bow with generally satisfyin' results. Mostly, tho', I'm twice as good a swordsman as any of them. Spent most of my time scoutin' or bein' a guard of someone or something," continues Farrell, who grins at Tamsyn afterward. "There you go, Tammy. Like I said, some of'em are easier to talk to than others."

He pauses a moment, remembering something as he adds, "My associate, Ser Bluekite, favors the mace. Not quite as skilled as me, mayhap, but he's better than any town guard."

"Well, uh, I don't. My Lady. Just doesn't seem somethin' you'd have use for. I just hunt for Ser Lorcan and Ser Farrell. Make 'em poultices and tea if they need it, and repair things like tents 'n clothes." That's what Tamsyn is good at, among other things, but she's content enough to fall quiet at Anais's inquiry aimed at the bigger, older knight.

Once she's shaved off enough, however much she wants, Tamsyn collects the shavings and puts them into a small wooden box which is squirreled away into her satchel. "I didn't say ya couldn' talk to 'em, Ser, just that… Ah, never mind, never mind. Ser Bluekite is like to flay a man with 'is tongue as much as a mace."

Liss comes out of the hallway, after a long absence, looking a little flushed. She straightens her apron and her little white cap, picks up a large jug of ale and begins circulating around the room, gathering empty bowls and plates, and refilling cups. She moves gracefully, evading out-thrust boots and chairs, and groping hands, a cheerful smile permanently fixed on her face.

"We could use knights who still remember a thing or two about caring for themselves," Anais admits, tipping her head to one side to consider the pair. "I imagine you've heard that the Ironborn did more than their fair share of damage to the Roost. Things are tight right now. They'll even out in time, of course. Thankfully the wealth of the Roost is in the land, and that isn't something you can ride off with." Quiet, she sets one hand on the table, brushing her thumb over the grain of the wood. "Why Terrick's Roost, rather than one of the other houses in the area?"

Lorcan takes a full pitcher from Liss' tray as she passes on his way in. "Thank you, my dear. Well aren't you a pretty thing." His gaze lingers longer than it ought to before his eyes settle on his cohorts' table, and he comes up behind Farrell, one hand leaning on the back of his chair, the other tilting the pitcher to his lips. "Evening. Business?"

What business conducted between Farrell and Anais isn't much Tamsyn's business; she goes where she's told, does what she's told. Instead, Lorcan's sudden entrance draws Tamsyn's attention immediately, and her amber eyes narrow thoughtfully. "'Course. What else? Should ya be drinkin' that, Ser?" She sounds… skeptical, and immediately reaches for the stuffed satchel in her lap. "Not that ya care. How's your head, though?"

Liss blinks as Lorcan snags the pitcher from her, and spins around to face him. "Thank you, my lord." she murmurs. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asks, with the sweetness of a barmaid angling for tips. Although, in her case, it does seem to be reasonably genuine. Maybe she _likes_ being a waitress…

"Never been too interested in land, M'lady. Wouldn't know what to do with it. As for why the Terricks? Best offers I've heard so far. Everyone else demands we join up or would rather their guards handle their problems. Not to sound arrogant, but I'm better than any town guard. Ehhh, Ser Bluekite, too, I'd say," speaks Farrell confidently with a grin, his expression growing a touch concerned as he notices Lorcan, though that concern likely has little to do with his teeth. "Ah…and there's my associate now. Ser Lorcan Bluekite, THIS IS /M'LADY/. /ANAIS/. /TERRICK/."

"I'd like to have a decent town guard eventually," Anais admits, though she quirks a brow when Farrell turns up the volume, shifting in her seat to see just what merits the change. "Hello," she greets lightly, offering a friendly sort of smile and wiggling her fingers in a wave before she looks back to Farrell. "Who was it you said you'd fought under against the Greyjoys?"

"/Lllllord?/" Lorcan's grin widens as he turns to face Liss. "I'm no Lord, but you may call me one! Do a little twirl and I'll give you a copper pen-" Farrell gets his attention and he shuffles back around, setting his pitcher on the table. "M'lady Anais Terrick," he repeats successfully. "You shouldn't strain your voice so much, Farrell. Oh, are we talking of his triumphs? Did he tell you of the time he nearly saved a cat from a tree?"

"Ehhh ale's good for everything. My head's just fine, I don't need your sticks," Lorcan adds to Tamsyn, waving his hand when he spots her reaching for her satchel.

Liss's dark brows rise as Lorcan starts mentioning money, but, as he's distracted, she gives a rueful smile and follows him over to the table, to see if anyone there needs anything. She bobs a little curtsy to Anais, but doesn't speak until she's acknowledged.

"Right," the woman replies blithely, expression rather flat. Amber eyes dart between Lorcan and Liss thoughtfully, and amused little smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Tamsyn ignores Lorcan's claim, digs a few bits of cattail from the satchel, a few bits of fibrous root.

"Uh.. Could you, uh, get some boilin' water? Maybe a cup, too? For it," Tamsyn mutters at Liss, as if unsure how one goes about getting anything in an /inn/. Or maybe just not used to all this finery, it's hard to tell. The little wooden box is set upon the table, and the little woman shoves the freshly garnered greens at Lorcan with a set jaw. "Chew. I ain't waitin' till you're half dead to have a care, /Ser/. How else you gonna help the Lady?"

Farrell scoffs at Lorcan. "I could've saved that cat a good half hour before that little girl, but of course, they'd rather have their guards do it. What can be done?" asks the hedge knight with a sigh and a shrug, nodding to Anais as he responds to her, "Ser Bluekite and I fought with the king's host durin' the Greyjoy Rebellion."

As Liss stops by, Farrell looks up to her with a raised brow before thinking it over a moment and giving her a nod. "Water for me, Mistress."

Liss ducks her head, but looks somewhat disappointed. "Boiling water for the… miss, and plain water for you, m'lord." she repeats back, somewhat dubiously, and scurries off to the kitchen to obtain them.

"Ser!" interjects Farrell as Liss scurries off, giving a sigh afterward.

Anais can't quite hide a smile at Lorcan's question, shaking her head to Liss. "Thank you, but I should probably be getting back to the tower. I meant under whose command, Ser," she adds to Farrell, moving to stand. "For what it's worth, I do believe I like you. All of you," she adds with a smile for Lorcan and Tamsyn as well. "But if I'm to put your names forward to Ser Blayne and Lord Jerold, I'd like to see if anyone can offer a reference of sorts. For their peace of mind, of course."

Liss glances over a Lorcan and sighs. She snags a clean cup from the sideboard, and sets it next to his jug. She then takes the jug and pours a neat mug of ale, setting them both before him in a sort of pointed conclusion. She then ducks her little curtsy and maks her way to the kitchen.

Lorcan slumps into a chair and eyes the /sticks/ that Tamsyn shoves at him, eyeing it like a stubborn child forced to eat steamed cabbage. But he shoves the greenery in his his mouth nonetheless and chews dejectedly. But brightens upon hearing Anais' praise. When Liss sets the jug and mug before him and darts off, he looks to Tamsyn, whispering, "I think she wants a tip."

"That is an exceedingly depressin' barmaid," observes Farrell off the top of his head, shaking his head and looking at Anais with a somewhat confused expression. "The king led the last assault himself, M'lady. I suppose I could give you the name of the men that paid us, I wasn't too concerned with the commanders at the time."

"A tip? Well, uh, I ain't got any money, Ser," Tamsyn mutters in reply, watching Lorcan chew the offered plantlife with grim approval. She slides a hand into her satchel, fishes around. "They barter here? Gotta barter here, right? S'civilized n'stuff." While she's waiting, watching Lorcan chew, Tamsyn pulls something from her satchel and sets it on the edge of the table. It appears to be a still-live frog, small and bright green. And likely as puzzled to be here as anyone who would think it a proper tip.

"Anyone of note who was there with you would do. And I do mean of note in the broadest sense of the word," Anais adds with another wry smile. "Septon. Someone's brother. Even someone from the village." Standing, she brushes a hand over her skirts. "I really must get back to the tower, but I should be here for a few more days. I understand, of course, if you've other business you must be about, but I would like to hear back from you."

Liss returns, shortly, with a small kettle of hot water and a jug of cold, along with a selection of cups, all balanced on the tray. She sets the tray down and starts unloading it on to the table. She smiles, sunnily at the company there. "Can I bring you some fresh-baked bread? We have some spring strawberries and some pickled olives and a very nice spiced mutton…" she offers, hopefully.

"I suppose I could see if I can get ahold of the name of the man that paid us, if that'll do M'lady," Farrell answers, bowing his head to her as she prepares to leave. "I'll make sure to try an' find ya, M'lady. Thank you kindly, and G'evening."

Farrell quickly adds, "Mutton it is." to Liss with a quick grin, probably hoping that will be enough to solve whatever problems is going on here again. He completely ignores the frog.

Lorcan continues to drink straight out of the pitcher. Then nearly chokes when he spots the frog perched on the table. "TAMSYN, there's /nobles/ here, no one wants to see your damn frog!" And he reaches to bap her on the back of the head. "Put it away before I eat it," he grunts, then quickly adopts a pleasant face to see off Anais. "Good evening!"

It's a close thing. Anais can /almost/ be heard giggling about the frog as she leaves. Good thing she gets out the door quickly.

"Frogs is good eatin', you lou-" Her protest is cut dramatically short by the kindly blow to the back of her skull that sets her ears ringing, but is more surprising than harmful. She reaches out with slim fingers, snatches the amphibian from the edge of the table before it realizes its freedom and stuffs it back into the satchel. Tamsyn shoots a piercing glance in Lorcan's direction, but she doesn't argue; her attention is abruptly stolen by the retreating noblewoman. What does she say? "Uh.. Was nice meetin' ya-" And the woman is gone before she can finish.

Liss cursies to Anais. She glances at the frog, curiously, but makes no comment. She beams at Farrell, and scurries off to the kitchen, returning shortly with a tray laden with bread and cheese, olives and mutton, strawberries and little raisin-filled pastries. She also brings a second jug of ale, in case anyone else wants one.She lays it all out on the table. "I'm Liss." she tells you all. Just call me if you need anything." she says, with a warm smile, and then heads off to check on other tables. She will be attentive and efficient with whatever your culinary needs are for the rest of the evening, because she's an awesome waitress, and you should not forget to tip her.

Ho-ho! Mutton. Farrell digs right into that, munching with the ferocity of a man that probably hasn't eaten anything the entire day. After several moments of feasting, Farrell picks out a stray bit of meat from his teeth as he peers around. "Oh. Everybody left. Well, suits me fine enough. Looks like all the work's in Terrick's Roost, but everybody givin' any of it out is over here. Strange." And he goes right back to the mutton.

Lorcan stares at all the /food/ for a long moment, tongue running over his lips, ignoring Tamsyn's sharp look. "/This/ is good eatin', but… do we even ahve coin for this?" Welp, if Farrell is partaking, it must be a good idea. So Lorcan stuffs his face, then spends a moment hacking from one of Tamsyn's sticks that he'd forgotten about.

"Ser Farrell's the one who tells me not t'waste time findin' herbs and stuff," Tamsyn mutters, eyeing the food. It's a nicer spread than she's used to, though only a few of its components are not something she could provide. "Looks 'spensive." So much so that Tamsyn pulls out a few thin linen napkins from her satchel, unfolds them, and begins to wrap a number of the food items in decent quantities in the napkins. When they're wrapped, they're carefully placed into her now considerably bulging satchel. That poor frog. Only when she has secured enough food to serve as another meal for the trio does she partake of herself, and even then, she only helps herself to bread and olives in small, delicate bites.