|We Are Not Amused|
|Summary:||Ceinlys and Daryl air their grievances. Quietly.|
|Related Logs:||The Missing Children TP in general.|
|Marketplace — Terrick's Roost|
|Residents of the town and surrounding area bring their wares to sell here among small tables built upon the slate grey stone flooring of the outdoor expanse. The area is surrounded by thatched roof buildings and shops on all sides with roads and paths winding their way in and out of this thriving part of town. Most of the commercial capacity of Terrick's Roost can be found here with the storefronts attracting the attention of those among all classes.|
|December 9th, 289 A.L.|
Beware the fury of a patient man. ~ John Dryden
A sunlit morning in the Roost sees the traders of the Marketplace about their business early; some spreading their wares on mere blankets on the ground, others shoo'ing local children away from their stalls, a select few eyeing their competitors stock with thinly veiled contempt. Already prospective customers are milling about, pausing here and there to chatter in small groups. Life goes on, no matter the events surrounding in the greater world, or even closer to home. After all, not everyone has any reason to worry over a few missing children.. and they still need to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads.
These sort of concerns don't assail the Lady Ceinlys, of course. Strolling through the crowd with two guards in Haigh livery and her misery of a chaperone trailing as always in her wake, already laden with a few neatly wrapped bundles, it would seem the young woman has found a much-needed distraction, if only for an hour or two. Beyond everything else, she is the Steward of Broadmoor, and therefore needs to have an eye upon trade opportunities. Even if that's the last thing she really wants to be considering.
Though her booted steps carry her through the vivid market, Ceinlys' attention is settled upon a freshly unrolled sheaf of parchment in her hand, which she reads as she moves, naturally simply assuming a path will clear before her without the need for demand. Whatever that note is, it's prompted a vague, thoughtful frown to dwell upon her features.
Not far away is another reason why people should clear a path. A collection of armed and armored men are striding along the way, headed towards the marketplace. There's a moment where the Lady may be able to hear, "…Only minimizing. Sometimes I wonder how committed…" It's a familiar voice…Daryl's. But its just far enough one can't make out the whole sentence. "Honestly. Whats the gods damned reason…To all go out, night…" The Ashwood can be spotted conversing with another one of the men.
As they grow closer, words grow clearer, and a man replies to Daryl. "Sorry, m'lord. Those are our orders." The Ashwood just shakes his head and strides away from the group with quick pace. Accidentally…Or perhaps not considering his displeased look…Daryl's foot catches a vase displayed on a blanket and sends it clattering, bits going all around the vendor's blanket. He stops, reaches into his pants and withdraws enough coin to give to the vendor before continuing to stomp on his way with a determined frown. Right towards Ceinlys.
Considering the fate of the vase, it's fortunate that Brigid, at least, is paying attention. A not-so-subtle nudge to her mistress' ribs gets her a sharp glance aside from Ceinlys, who parts her lips no doubt to question or reprimand. But whatever the handmaid murmurs instead distracts the young lady into looking back up and around herself, cerulean eyes finding the approaching Lord in short order.
Drawing to a halt, crumpling the parchment in one hand before resting both in a clasp before herself, the Steward simply waits in the young man's path, watching him with that calm manner of hers. She waits for the distance between them to close somewhat before addressing him directly. "Well, Lord Daryl. You look every bit as thunderous as I feel, today." Flitting a swift glance past him to the poor merchant, kneeling and gathering the broken fragments into her skirt's apron, the ebon-maned Haigh arches a brow. "Couldn't find the perfect addition to your chamber's decor?" It's interesting that the noblewoman makes the effort to tease Daryl from his evidently foul temper, when her own is equally apparent beneath the delicate facade. But then, she does tend to dismiss such trivial things as emotion, in public.
The pair of guards accompanying her nod in respectful greeting to the Ashwood and maintain a discreet distance to permit conversation. Brigid, following a shrewd glance between her charge and the man she speaks to, keeps her peace. She just folds her arms and continues to look sour.
Now normally, Daryl's response would consist of that winning grin of his, and a chuckle accompanied by words hopefully just as amusing, however her intuition is right, Daryl's mood is not the usual nonchalant, carefree affair. Still, his expressions softens some and he speaks, dipping his head a touch. "Lady Ceinlys." He looks back towards the group he split off of and then back at the former steward of Highfield, "More like these idiots from the roost are doing more harm to our searching then good." He doesn't have much of a problem saying that outloud.
"Mmm, so I've heard." Ceinlys follows his glance toward the departing group calmly. Well, at least she doesn't seem perturbed by his mood. "I'm uncertain exactly why they feel the need to leash and marshal forces not their own. And frakly… they've failed to do anything regarding the common children. Why in the name of all the Gods ought I entrust them with finding my daughter? They have no right to dictate to us - if they cannot master their own investigations then they ought to simply stay out of the way of those better equipped."
Drawing a soft breath, the young lady looks back to Daryl. "I intend to visit the Tower this afternoon, to politely point out that they're being utterly ridiculous. And I am hardly in the mood for ineptitude, in this matter." Raking a hand back through her long hair, she frowns again, then glances to the almost forgotten note still crushed within her other fingers. Absently, she hands it off to Brigid. "I take it that no further progress has been made, then, given the impossible circumstances forced upon those involved in the search?"
As the woman expresses similar feelings about the topic, Daryl seems to relax some. Of course she already knows. "Right. It only reduces the number of searches we can conduct and ground to cover." He glances at the crumpled note, but utters no words about it, "When you make appearance, if they still resist, atleast see myself and Ser Jast free of their restrictions. From what i've seen…" Another look back to the search party, now laughing amongst themselves and talking about whores, "…We're taking things a bit more seriously." At her request for an update Daryl frowns slightly. "Well, I didn't let them slow us down completely…A couple of…'Highfield patrols' which they have no jurisdiction over has allowed us to clear and check off more sections of unsearched land. Progress is being made, M'lady." He looks into her eyes as he says that last part.
Clever lad. Judging by the slow half-smile that curves Ceinlys' lips, this easy side-stepping is precisely what she would have suggested. "Good. But yes, I will see what can be done. It may be that they're simply bristling at knight and Lords of far wealthier Houses being in such proximity. With luck, all it will take is a little soothing of easily-bruised pride." The woman pointedly ignores the sudden laughter that draws Daryl's gaze, studying him in profile and awaiting the return of his attention. "..no one will take it more seriously than those accompanying my brother. Never be fooled by a smile from a Haigh, Lord Daryl. He may be patient, but he is no foppish youth. And, of course, there's you and your stubborn streak." The jest doesn't touch her eyes, as they become distant for a few beats. "..as well as the assurances of Lord Aleister himself. By way of courier. A great comfort, indeed. But, at least there remains no issue with searching his lands. For that much I am grateful." The fractional curl of her upper lip as she speaks implies that a note is far from enough, in her opinion. But the intent cannot be faulted. And recalling suddenly with whom she speaks, she sets aside that train of thought with a sigh. "Ser Jast is here already? That is good to hear. He's a decent, sensible sort. Mostly."
Daryl notes that clever little rise of her lips, and restrains from allowing it to become contagious…Just barely. The more he thinks about it the more and more he's convinced that their minds…Both in thought and opinion, often found common ground. "Hopefully it can be fixed easily. Sugar coat their tea, butter their bread…Whatever you can get me to aid in this search is where your help comes in to play…Though." Okay now he allows that Ashwood smirk (tm) to creep through and he speaks, "I don't doubt your ability of wordcraft…In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you had them crawling like dogs searching for the lady by the end of it." A nod at her mention of her brother. "He seemed very capable, and with his help we will see this through." As she speaks of -Aleister- he remains quite neutral, nodding along adding, "I wouldn't be surprised if he was out in the woods right now, thats why he'd send courier." A small half shrug and, "Ser Jast rode in with me." A small pause, "Do you know him well? He's recently been made my partner but I admit, I know little of his background."
"I wouldn't go that far.." chuckles the young lady, despite the genuine flicker of amusement at the notion of having Terricks for lapdogs. Some of them are quite attractive, after all. Add a little collar with a bell and.. anyway. "I shall do everything I can to aid your efforts, Lord Daryl. That's the very least I can do, I think, in gratitude for your continued determination." Glancing aside at a gaggle of young women passing by, chattering and laughing amongst themselves - though it quiets to coy giggling as one brazenly ventures to look over the Ashwood Lord in a suggestive manner - Ceinlys' own lips twitch almost to a smirk, as well. Such a bad habit.
Her companion's suggestion as to Aleister's whereabouts elicits a dismissive snort. Apparently she considers that highly unlikely. But there's no need to retread old ground. "I knew Ser Jast only in passing, while I was at Highfield. But he seems capable, and dedicated to his duties and his Lord." Returning her glacial eyes to the taller Lord, she raises and drops one shoulder in a light shrug. "I can tell you little more than that, I'm afraid. But you know if I could find fault, I would have no qualms in sharing such with you. I've little time for weakness." That gaze flits toward the tower. "Or foolishness."
Daryl chuckles as well over the thought of the Terricks. At the sound of laughing women, well…Lets just say Daryl's a fan. He's very nonchalant about glancing up towards the women passing by and cueing an absolutely charming smile, either well practiced or a natural gift. "Good day, ladies." Very casual as he raises his brows towards Ceinlys a tad to let her know the brief interuption was concluded. He's cool and collected as he listens to her speak of the sheriff, nodding and half shrugging at points, "Very well. I'm simply curious is all." His gaze follows hers and there's a small grin. "I'm glad I'm on your side." He half jests of her.