Page 316: What Rosanna Wants
What Rosanna Wants
Summary: Rosanna and Brynner talk about the past and the future.
Date: May 31, 2012
Related Logs: Following Feline Bribery, referencing Firsts
Rosanna Brynner 
The Lakeside — Kingsgrove
Pretty and green with a lake.
May 31, 2012

Rosanna is looking a little more put-out on her blanket by the lake, what with Nicodemus's recent visit. She is picking at one of the apple pastries he left behind, though, but she does it grouchily. Stupid pastry. Her handmaiden has been sent off on some task or other in the intervening time, but this is home, after all, and she has a bit more freedom to roam. Barristan is curled up on the blanket next to her.

Merrily along comes one lovesick squire, humming a tune loudly as he walks. Brynner has his fishing pole tucked under one arm, and a bucket of what is hopefully bait and not his lunch swinging gaily in the opposite hand. He's a bit distracted with his not-singing, hum-bum-diddly-ho, but when he finally does come within conversational distance he spies his lady love and cracks a bright grin. "Good day, my lady!"

Rosanna looks up a bit distractedly from not writing her letter and not eating her pastry. "Oh, Brynner," she says, attempting a smile. "Hello." The expression weakens again soon enough, though. She has been rather OUT OF SPIRITS since arriving home to her EXILED BROTHER.

Brynner's own smile weakens as Rosie's does: if you are upset, O Sunshine Of His Life, he is upset too. The lad's expression turns to a sympathetic wince, and he ventures (what he thinks is particularly insightfully), "Y'want me to just… turn around and go back the other way, Lady Rosanna?"

"No, it's all right," Rosanna tells him, smile flickering. WOE IS HER. "My brother was just here." She scratches behind Barristan's ears forlornly.

Well, that's fortunate! Bryn clods over, his boots flopping around due to being laced too loosely. It's very awkward, the way he reaches up - or bends down, as the case may be - to scratch his scalp with his fishing pole still tucked under his arm. He's searching for the right thing to say, but even after a time, he's not quite sure what that is. So he just says, "Uh."

"Are you going fishing?" Rosanna brilliantly surmises. She looks a little pained at his floppy boots and awkward scratching.

"I was going to," Brynner confirms, looking a little relieved. "But I could sit here for a bit," he adds hesitantly, and more than a little hopefully. "You know. If you want some company."

"If you like." Although Barristan is taking up most of the blanket. Like a boss. "Nicodemus left some apple preserve pastries behind." Her brow knits above her eyes, displeased. "I can't believe he came back like this."

Perhaps Barristan will be interested in what's in Brynner's bucket - or perhaps such a noble cat is used to more fine fare. Either way, the squire sets the bucket down at the ver back corner of the blanket, but not upon it, and settles himself down on the edge. The very edge. "I would beat him up, if you asked," he says very solemnly. "I'd try, anyway."

"That's very gallant of you," Rosanna says airily. "I am certain he would beat you handily, though." Barristan rises from his curl with a stretch of long, feline limbs to butt up against Brynner's side with a loud purr. Hello, person he likes.

"Is there somethin' else I can do?" Brynner asks, instead of making comment on his versus Nic's mad fighting skills. He offers a slightly grubby hand to Barristan, palm-up as one might offer a dog, then turns it over to rub down over the cat's head and along his back. Hello, kitty.

Rosanna smiles innocently at him. "You could convince my father to arrange a betrothal between me and Lord Rutger," she suggests. Barristan arches in that way that cats have and turns about for another pass under Brynner's hand.

Brynner looks up from the cat with surprise at Rosanna. And then decides she's not serious. And then narrows his eyes, creases forming at the corners - is she serious? "I don't think I…" he starts to protest, and stops himself. His hand stays quite still, sorry Baristan, you will have to make the movement in this round of petting.

"Could convince him?" Rosanna finishes for him. "No, I don't think so, either. I think Nicodemus is considering taking my side just to get me to forgive him." She pauses a moment, then says, "I don't want to." Barristan does manage to basically pet himself, sliding under Brynner's hand.

Bryn doesn't quite follow for a moment, attributing Rosanna's last statement to the marrying of Rutger before the copper drops. He nods to himself, having that sorted in his head, and offers Barristan a wriggling of his fingers for the self-petting efforts. "I dunno," he says unhelpfully, then adds, "I think you got some room for being angry. No-one's gonna blame you if you don't forgive 'im right away."

"What if I /never/ want to forgive him?" Rosanna asks. "What if I just want him to go back away and stay away forever?"

Brynner clears his throat, and swallows. "Um," he reckons, about that. "Well, I mean… ummmmm… if that's what you really want, my lady."

"That's all you want, isn't it," Rosanna says in a mild tone of voice. "Whatever I want."

Brynner's neck starts to flush red, and he looks down into his lap to mumble as the blush creeps up into his starting-to-stubble cheeks: "No."

"No?" Rosanna echoes with an arch of her brows. "You don't want what I want?"

"Yes!" Brynner is quick to respond, twisting his head back up to look desperately at Rosanna. "I mean, no. I mean, yes, but that's not all I want. I mean - cheese and crackers, I don't even know what I mean sometimes. I'm sorry, m'lady."

Rosanna smooths a hand back over her hair and then twirls a coppery lock slowly about her finger. "You don't," she agrees with him in his general flailyness. "Do you remember when we used to practice kissing, Brynner?"

Brynner turns his profile to Rosanna, regarding her sidelong as he pets Barristan some more. "I…" Is this a trap? "I do, m'lady."

"Have you ever kissed anyone else?" Rosanna wonders, her voice continuing oh-so-mild in that innocence.

Brynner furrows his brows. He looks back at Rosanna. And then to his lap. And then back at Rosanna, and then - no, back at Rosanna. Looking her up and down suspiciously, he shakes his head. "I've got squirin' to do, and fishin', and… well, I don't fancy kissing anyone else, m'lady."

"You should," she tells him. "You're never going to marry me. Are you going to wait around your whole rest of your life without kissing anyone?"

"No," says Brynner, immediately defensive. "Just 'til I find someone else I'd like to kiss, is all."

Despite what she was just saying, Rosanna frowns. Then she considers him with a narrowed gaze with a certain hint of pettiness to it. "You could kiss me if you wanted," she suddenly decides. "I should have practice for when I'm married." To someone NOT YOU, Brynner.

Brynner's nose wrinkles as Rosanna frowns. WHAT. And then he's blinking surprisedly, taken aback by the offer. "I - I'd like to," he says, unable to help himself. "Do you want me to say all those pretty things to you first?"

Rosanna looks a bit unfairly exasperated by the question. "I already know what you'll say."

"Do you?" Brynner leaves Barristan out in the proverbial cold as he questions Rosanna.

"You'll say how beautiful I am and something about what my hair looks like in the sun or the color of my eyes or maybe something about my freckles or my nose or my lips," Rosanna says with a sigh. "I don't need you to tell me I'm beautiful."

The squire grins lazily, thumping his hand down behind him on the ground to lean upon it as he watches Rosanna speaking. "When we were fightin' those Ironborn," says Brynner with a hint of pride, a very accomplished squire now, "All the men were shoutin' for this lord or that. I dedicated my efforts to you."

"How very touching to know that one or two Ironborn died in my name," Rosanna says a touch dryly.

What a way to entice a boy to kiss you, Rosanna. Brynner looks a little deflated, that heat rising in his neck again. "I thought it was romantic," he protests. I bet that dick Smalljon told him it was.

God, that Smalljon is a jerk. "What is romantic about a gesture a lady cannot witness?" Rosanna wonders. What have you done for me LATELY, Brynner? And within immediate view?

"Ask your lord brother, he'll tell you about it," Brynner retorts. If it's gestures in the present she's after, though, he'll wrack his brains to come up with… "I could catch you a fish?" Even Bryn can tell that's not very romantic, and he huffs a sigh after saying it.

"Perhaps if you caught Barristan a fish, you could kiss him," Rosanna suggests in a wry tone of voice.

"I don't wanna kiss your cat," protests Bryn, his features twisting into a momentarily disgusted scowl. Ugh. "Look, Rosanna, I - you know I'd do anything for you. Stop bein' mean and just let me kiss you." He totally wants to say please, but that's not very manly and he's a battle-seasoned squire now. Battle-seasoned squires don't beg kisses with manners.

Rosanna actually bristles at his words. "I'm not being mean," she says, drawing up from the blanket to stand. "Don't be rude. I never said you had to say something pretty or romantic, and it's not my fault you tried and were terrible at it anyways." After a beat, she adds, "And I am a lady."

Well if Rosanna is standing, Brynner is standing too. He jumps to his feet after the lady, towering over her once they're both up. "Fine," he says, "My lady. Pardon my rudeness?" Boldly, he takes a step toward her. I hope Barristan is not underfoot. That would be awkward.

"I don't allow Lord Rutger to take liberties with my name, and he is courting me," Rosanna claims in a haughty tone, refusing to be daunted by his towering. She tosses her hair back as if she were about a foot taller. Barristan is smart enough to get out of the way.

"Well I'm never going to marry you," quips back Brynner. He cracks another smile as she tosses her hair, and tells her, "You're very pretty when you do that, Rosanna."

"All the more reason for you to be proper with my name," Rosanna says with a hint of temper in her dark eyes. "Lady Rosanna."

Brynner seriouses up at that flash of temper, hiding his smile and lifting a hand to run through his hair - well, except that his fingers catch in a tangle, but he is smooth enough to disguise it as just a contemplative headscratch at that point. Hopefully. "Would you still like me to kiss you, Lady Rosanna?"

"Well I don't know anymore," Rosanna claims. She smooths her hands down her skirts and says, "You've been terribly rude."

"Alright," says Bryn, with a shrug. "I might just go fishin' then, m'lady."

Rosanna frowns even fiercer at that. "Don't you even care?"

"Of course I care," Brynner replies, a little peevishly. "Just — oh, for apple's sake." He takes a quick look over his shoulder, before closing the distance between them and leaning precariously close. He means to deliver a kiss to Rosanna's lips, unless she ducks out of the way.

Rosanna meets him rather fiercely in the kiss, not quite a woman of experience, but — a woman, which is more than can be said for the last time they practiced this particular act several years ago. Her fingers curl against his chest, tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

Brynner was clearly not quite expecting as much, and he makes a surprised sound against Rosanna as he kisses her. He knows better than to rush this one, curling his arms about her and letting her lead him. She will no doubt notice his smile.

There is a boldness she's learned as the years have gone by, a certain unsatiated want. Rosanna parts her lips with an insistent sound against his mouth, urging his action more than giving him lead. She moves close up against him.

Brynner is reluctant to lick the Lady Rosanna, but he will tighten his hold on her and meet her open-mouthed kisses. One hand presses her to him at the small of her back, the other between her shoulder blades, so fiercely that he almost stumbles backwards.

Rosanna pulls back in one of the natural breathes between their kisses, her expression knit in a sourceless dissatisfaction. She studies his face as if looking for something in particular. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

Brynner's dull blue eyes search Rosanna's during that pause, eager to find whatever it is that irks her. His brow twitches, creases appearing briefly on his forehead - and then he comes at her again, before she can protest or tell him he's lacking. He'll have another kiss.

This one is more unexpected on her end. Rosanna makes another quiet sound against him, this one more of surprise, as she's tempted into another kiss. She lingers in the warmth of it for perhaps longer than she should before pulling back again. "Brynner—"

His heart is thumping loudly in his chest as he bravely claims that kiss from Rosanna, and when she pulls back this time he's the one who's flushed. He gulps as she says his name, eyebrows lifting in query. His voice is a rasp: "Rosa - m-my lady?"

Rosanna untangles herself slowly from his arms, her color still high. "I don't want you," she suddenly decides, turning away from him to begin gathering up her things. Or — no, she is not carrying that much. She takes the letters she's written. "Make sure someone comes to collect this," she says of the rest, writing board and supplies and blanket and such.

Well, that stings. Bryn stands right where he is, still as a tree as Rosanna starts to gather her things. He manages to utter a stunned, "Yes, m'lady," in response to her instruction, his smile nowhere to be found. Once she's a few paces away, he might flop dramatically onto the blanket to sit and feel sorry for himself for a time - or to reflect on what he did wrong kissing this time.

Her gaze does flit over him with something like pity, but it's a far cry from sympathy. Rosanna watches him that moment longer, almost growing indecisive, before she turns and moves quickly off back towards the manor.