|Summary:||Sofya and Pariston accidentally meet under the cover of nightfall to mixed results and a few heated words.|
|Related Logs:||The Cost of a Kiss|
|Encampments — Seagard|
|Here the knights of Riverlands and Reach (and a few from the Westerlands, but they're not alliterative) have set up their pavilions, in as many and as varied shades as the heraldry displayed prominently before them. From a single undyed canvas tent beneath the arms of a hedge knight to the veritable forest of azure and burgundy fronted by the grapes of the Arbor, this cloth maze is always abuzz with activity.|
|Thu Jun 21, 289|
It is late and Pariston has been drinking a bit and is now heading towards the Flint camp, though walking slowly and calmly. Looking more sober than he might be, though he is still quite sober. Enough to walk straight at least. The area seem quite empty at the moment though, which has him a bit on the alert. MOving past several tents as he continues on his way.
It is late. The cloth maze casts long shadows on the beaten earth, the rather figure more of a spector than a person at this time of night. The glow within several tents has just begun to draw them longer. A scuffle of feet can be heard to the right, fabric whispering as a slight figure moves hurridly along towards Pariston from a slim alleyway between tents. A dark cloak has been thrown over slim shoulders, obscuring features from sight and something is clutched in their hands.
Pariston is not fully surprised by the approach, always tending to keep eyes and ear open. Even if he is a bit drunk. Though he does reach for his knife, at his boot, just in case. "Hi." He calls out, not sure who the figure is. Studying the person for a bit. Holding his knife at the ready.
The cloaked figure skids to a stop with a shriek as the gleam of that knight catches her eyes as she rounds a corner. It is definitely a she, skirts and all. She stumbles a bit as she tries to retract her steps, dancing backward. It takes a minute to settle in that she knows that voice. "Bloody hells and ashes, Pariston," the woman says, lifting a hand to tug her cloak back from her face. It is Sofya Dale in the ever-scowling flesh. "What are you doing waving a knife about on the tourney grounds."
As Pariston notices that it is a woman he slides to hide the knife. It isn't until he knows that it is Sofya that he puts it back in the sode of his leg, and the boot. "Sorry, Sofya. I can't be too careful. Especially not at night. Having people hding their faces in the night usually does not bode too well. My apologies." He tells her, looking really sorry as he bows. "How come you are out here all alone?"
"What do you think is going to happen if you're pulling knives on people? A Lord or a Ser might take offense to that, you know," Sofya chastises with a click of her tongue, shifting the bundle in her arms so she can place a hand on her hip. There are an awfully large number of the Lordly types in these parts. Tourneys. She frowns at him a moment longer as if judging his sincerity, cheeks red from her fright. If he will look properly sorry. "Running a few errands for my Lord and I was picking up a few bits in town earlier. It got darker sooner than I expected."
Pariston nods as he listens, "I just rather make sure that none get hurt than take my chance. But indeed. I should have gone about it smarter. I apologize." He does look sincerly sorry for it, as he looks to her eyes. "Ah, I see. did you get what you needed?"
"I or some poor scullery maid would have been the one getting hurt with you waving that thing about," Sofya comments dryly, blowing a lock of hair out of her face with a huff. Well. "Fine. Apology accepted. What you doing out here and smelling of good times?" She wonders, lifting the hand from her him to smooth back her hair. "Yes, I did. I always get what I need," she admits with a breathy laugh.
Pariston nods, "Indeed. Though do not think of me as careless. I might have had it at the ready. But I would not use it unless I got attacked or if the person moves to hurt someone else." He offers. "I was just heading back to Flint camp after having enjoyed the evening a bit. Which does remind me of two things. I heard there will be dancing for the commoners, might you be there? And also, I never did get to hear your price for a lie." He says and grins. And as she goes on about the wares, and hearing her laugh, he chuckles.
Her shadow darkened eyes dart from beneath darker lashes, skipping from Pariston's features to the knife holstered near his boot as he speaks. A touch hesitant still, perhaps. Sofya inclines her head at Pariston's 'two things', admittedly curious as she angles into the wider corridor where he stands. "It must have been some evening, are you quite sure you remember which way your camp lays?" She teases with a hint of smile tugging at her mouth. "And firstly, yes. I will be there to dance if I am not otherwise needed. And secondly, I think it's better to keep that secect." A bit of mystery is good for him.
Pariston grins at her teasing, "Nah… Not really. Perhaps you could lead me." He says and tries to give her a dumb look, as if he really has no idea. "Good, then perhaps I can offer to dance with you." He says with a grin. As she does not answer the second one, he shrugs. "You are not that pretty. No I'm sorry, that's untrue. I cannot lie about your beauty." He says and grins.
Sofya looks bland at Pariston's attempted dumb look. Uh-huh "This from the man who could find a cricket in the brush? I don't believe it," she pointedly clicks her tongue, dancing backward a step. Is it the tents? It might be the tents. She opens her mouth to respond to his offer of a dance…only to arch a brow. "You, sir, are lucky you don't get a slap for that. Never mind a dance." Mean. Really. "You're lucky I'm not a delicate sort, else I think you might have just hurt my feelings Master Vis."
Pariston chuckles. "You caught me." He says and then as for the dance he nods, "That is too bad." At the last part he nods. "I am sorry. I just wanted to see what happens if I lie. So I thought of a lie that you could never believe. I would be stupid to not find you beautiful." He says, then tilts his head. "Seems I lied twice. What might be the price for that?" He asks, both a bit afraid at what is to come, as well as curious.
"So you thought it'd be a fine thing to insult me under the cover of testing my reaction to a lie," Sofya states dryly, hand resettling on her hip as she looks up at him. One foot taps lightly against the ground. Not. Amused.
Pariston nods, "Yeah…Not the best thought out plan. You just made me nervous, and I thougt I'd take a shot. Though…Yeah, I'm sorry. Perhaps I should just…" He sighs and bows his head to her. Looking truely beat to the ground. As if someone hit him in the head with a hammer. Sorry for what he said. "I do find you quite astonishing in truth." He offers before thinking of walking away. Enough damage caused for now. Though still hoping that she would stop him.
"Perhaps not." A dark brow arches wryly on her forehead, hip cocked and feminine stance unyielding. Sofya presses her lips in a thin, turning to go herself as she offers back over her shoulder. "If you catch me at the fete, I'll dance with you." There. Question ansered.
Pariston smiles to her, "Thanks. But… I still feel bad for hurting you. Please, is there any way I can make it up to you?" He says and stops. Looking to her and just wanting to talk more. But he is a bit lost at the moment.
"You stung my pride and my temper, Master Vis. Not my heart," Sofya answers simply, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. There is no hurt that will linger with the morning there. "Flush with liquor as you are, it's not surprising. Go home, sleep," she bids. A smile is cast his way over her shoulder.
Pariston seems sober now, "So that mean I got a chance there then?" He says and has a charming smile on his lips again. "Please. I won't be stupid again. Keep me company for a moment." He says, hopeful.
Pausing, Sofya turns to stare at the Northern man for a long moment before laughing. "Eager, aren't you?" That's not a yes. "It is late," she says, glancing up at the sky. "And you've been drinking. It would be better if I went."
Pariston smiles, "I am. Mostly just to get another moment with you. I got to be honest, I flirt a lot. But I am not sure about anything." He admits, sighing. "Though I am sure that I want another moment to speak with you. Please."
"You may walk with me a ways," Sofya decides, moving onward on her route rather than remaining in their dark corner. "What would you speak of?"
Pariston smiles and walks along with her. "What was it you got from town?" He asks, starting with that. Keeping some distance as to not be improper. Studying her a bit. "Also, what might your favorite color be?"
"A few new needles and some supplies for my Lord," Sofya answers, curling her basket close under the folds of her cloak. "One of mine broke while I was working on a tempermental bit of embroidery and I can't do much work without them. Mind, I've had them forever so it's simply time." Things will break and need mending. His other question causing her to blink, looking at him for a moment before answer, "…Green?"
Pariston ahs and smiles, "I see. Well time do that. It is just good that you were able to find some new ones." He offers. Though at her answer to the next question he grins and nods, "That is indeed a pretty color. I like the colors of the woods, green. Yellow, brown." He tells her, smiling a bit. "I'm sorry if the question was confusing. I just, wanted to know more about you. Like, what might you be doing when not working?"
"Needles are blessedly common." All you need is a semi-decent blacksmith worth his salt and Seagard is certain to have one at least. "I can't say I think much about favored colours. Not beyond what'd be fetching in a bit of stitchwork," Sofya answers, nimble steps continuing on the muddled path towards the Terrick encampment. "I'm working most times, in all honestly. Attending a Lord on the road is just like that. What do you get up to when you aren't tracking things?"
Pariston chuckles, "That is probably true. I have little knowledge about such things." About colors he shrugs, not offering up more on that. It was just to get her started talking with him after all. And he did get sort of an answer. "I work mostly as well, but I do enjoy it. Both as a guard, but also a hunter. Fishing and swimming is nice to. And danicing." He offers, this last part while looking to her. "If you were not working, what might you do? I mean, I should be able to find you sometime when you do not work."
"I like to swim," Sofya admits after a moment, adjusting the bundle that she carries. "Not really the place nor the time for it here, but I can swim. Dancing is lovely. Are you much of a dancer, Master Vis?" She tips her head at his suggestion. "I'm often around the camps or the Roost. I ride."
Pariston smiles and nods, "Swimming is quite nice." He replies and about his dancing he shrugs, "I can dance. But not that good at it. But it is enjoyable. How about you?" He says and smiles. "Ah, I see. Well perhaps I can catch you sometime. I hope Apple is still doing fine."
"Are you the sort of not good that steps on everyone's feet or merely the kind that only half-wise knows the motions," Sofya inquires, glancing up at him from beneath the shade of her lashes. "I'm quite good. I've had a fair bit of opportunity to practice though." She nods. "Apple is lovely, thanks. She and Tornado were keen to see one another again after their separation, that'd be my Lord's horse. Perhaps you can."
"The latter." Pariston tells her and listens. Smiling and nods about the horses. "Who would be your lord?" He asks, giving her time to answer before speaking again. "Perhaps a preview of the dance?" He suggests, a charming smile offered. He won't push it though.
"Ah. I see, that's the rather less deadly sort of dance partner." That is almost like approval? "Ser Inigo Vance, you might have met him with the recovery effort. He's a cousin to the Terrick's," Sofya lifts her chin to nod at a nearby banner as they draw close to the camp. She shakes her head at his suggestion. "Afraid not. Wrong shoes and there's no music. I should take my leave though, it is late."
Pariston smiles and nods, "That sounds promising." He admits and then ahs as to her lord. "He did a great job at the joust." He offers. "I did lie to you. What price do I have to pay?" He asks, completely uncertain about it. Though his smile is soft. "I would clean every bowl around if that is the price." Waiting for her answer before he will leave for the Flint camp.
"Let me think on it. I think…you'll owe me a favor for the lie," Sofya decides, strumming her fingers against the weave of her basket as she looks at him in the dark. A smille shortly follows it. That's a simple thing, a favor. "I'll select one later. Goodnight, Master Vis."
Pariston grins and nods, "Alright. Be well, Mistress…Dale was it?" Having only used her first name when addressing her. "Sorry, I'm just used to calling you Mistress Sofya, rolls better on my tongue." He says lightly. Then nodding and leaving. "Sleep well."
"You can keep with Sofya, that's fine," she allows with a slight smile, dancing backwards another two steps. Sofya waves briefly, then slips out of sight into the Terrick encampment.