|The Name Means Nothing To Me|
|Summary:||Accusations are levelled in the Rockliff|
|Related Logs:||Ironborn invasion of the Roost|
|Rockcliff Inn, Terrick's Roost|
|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.|
|Wed Jan 11, 289|
It seems quieter in the Rockcliff tonight than it has of late. It's surely in part due to the absence of those who headed east a few days ago but also because even those not directly involved know that something is up tonight. Ale is still being drunk, but there's a marked lack of quaffing from some quarters who might otherwise be expected to have given up on sobriety entirely by this time of the evening. In one corner, away for the fire, sits Nares, he's armed and armoured as usual and there's a tankard in front of him. It's mostly full though and he seems to be contemplating the head rather than actually drinking it. For now at least.
Ingryd has been looking for a few days now, since the very last of the Tawny ships came in and she heard the name 'Asvard Nares' spoken on some lips. The great war hero. The spy and sneakthief. Her father. Still, he's been hard to find. Whether men are trying to protect him from a vengeful woman (and she certainly has THAT LOOK in her eyes), or people are just too drunk to known, she's had to kiss a few asses and kick a few more to get caught up with him. Finally, she turns down the aisle of the tables in the bar, and she catches sight of that face in the back. Vaguely familiar. Like seeing her own face in odd shadows and a hint more masculine. She stalks over to him, jaw set hard. She just stands there, studying him with all that teenage rebellious anger in her eyes. "Nares." She half growls, half questions.
Nares had been going over his memories of the layout of the Roost's defences in his head. Never hurts to be as prepared as possible after all. He does notice the approach of an unknown person, but then that's hardly an odd occurrence in such a place, so he pays her no heed until she stops and growls at him. That, oddly enough, gets his attention. Leaning back a little in his chair he glances up and takes in the youngster in front of him. "What's it to you?" he asks, curious about the apparent anger, he's not even seen her before so far as he knows, so why does she seem pissed. Doesn't hurt to be careful though, so he lets his left hand rest near his sword hilt, just in case he needs to draw quickly.
The little 'locked girl would probably smack him one for thinking her a youngster at all, but fortunately she cannot read minds. Ice eyes narrowing upon his older features, jaw gritted, it takes her a few moments to consider what she's going to tell him, and finally she comes straight out with: "I'm looking for my father." Though subtle in body, Ingryd isn't really subtle in mind. Best to be totally straight forward, especially if they're all at war. She remains standing before his table, though as she sees his hand go for his sword hilt, her's does the same.
Listening in silence as the lass speaks, Nares snorts back a laugh at her statement of intent. "I wish you all success in that, but what does that have to do with me?" Not that he doesn't think he knows where this might be going, but he wants to hear it from her, and then, if he's right, he'll want her to prove it. Remaining still he looks he over again as he exhales slowly. Nope, still nothing.
If he's not pulling his hand away from his sword's hilt, she's not either. Ingryd stares hard at him, not even bothering to watch her back for the moment. "I'd ask if you remember Lyra Saltford, but I suspect if you weren't too drunk then, you're probably too drunk now. But you left her with a gift when you sailed away." And now the girl is standing in front of him, all stiff jawed and angry eyed. But then, at her tiny height, she's got to project being the biggest bitch on the block or she'd probably have been raped fifty times over.
Nares is stone-cold sober right now, and not because of this conversation. He has a job to do later, then there'll be plenty of time for drink. "The name means nothing to me," he replies flatly, still watching carefully for a clue as to what she's planning on doing. He's listening though, that much is apparent, he's just not trusting.
Ingryd frowns just a bit, her icy face flickering with a moment of emotion. Disappointment, anger, hurt. But she's strong, stiff, she can go on just as she always has. "…Of course not." She growls out, then turns upon the ball of her foot and shakes her head, beginning to walk away. It wasn't worth the fight. Why should he even care? And she has a mission to ready for tonight.
Nares watches silently as the girl stalks away, frowning slightly in thought as he does so. That was most certainly odd, but he just shrugs it off for now and reaches for the tankard. A sip, then another, eyes not leaving the young girl until she's lost in the crowd. Then? Well, then it's back to mentally tracing the walls and defences.