(120-12-10) Dockside Bravado
Dockside Bravado
Summary: Brawling brutes, a blood mage, and a bravo are just a few of the sights on the docks this evening.
Date: 120-12-10

(If anyone has the poses prior to this, please add them here.)

The blood from the smaller mans face splatters and lands on Riker. the son of the bastard grins and readies himself now. Though, it is too late. Walruss's fist slams into his face and he lands on one knee. "Cunt!" He bellows as he now rushes the man low. In his haste he does not realize (with his head down) he is headed right towards the edge of the dock full speed, the only thing barring his path, the Lady's axe wielding man.

Eonn shrugs to Maera, opens another oyster, and offers it to her. Evidently he's decided to treat this as entertainment.

The Wulrus doesn't need to actually pick up anyone and throw them into the water. Instead, he'll turn his body so the Ironborn man charges past him, and reaches out with his big meaty hand to help propel him in the direction of the water.

Maera declines the oyster. Instead, she bends over to help her man up, and has him open his mouth for her. She'll smile slightly and tap his good cheek with her hand before turning to find a grog vendor. Having one's tooth punched out deserves a drink.

The brutish man, in a brutish and poorly thought out form, charges right past the man. His large hand helping to send him sailing over the rails. In mid-air he shouts "BAST_" SPLASH. The iron born disappears for a brief moment under water before emerging gasping for breath. "You fucking cu-" He begins before his leather weighs him back beneath the water momentarily. Surely the gear and boots do not help his flotation. "This will not-" Back under, back up. He struggles now to makes his way down river and to a place where he can resurface. Mayhaps his maester or slaving buddy will hear him cursing as he moves down the river.

"Watch my stall will you?" The woman says to the urchin before closing on the wounded bear island man her shawl still covering her face. Curtseying to Maera politely again the masked woman says, "I am a skilled healer my lady if you would but allow me to help you I can tend to your man," looking at the Ironborn. "I assume your anger does not extend to letting that man drown?"

Maera glances to the veiled woman before nodding once. "Yes, please do." At her next question she shrugs, "I'm sure the ugly bastard has fallen off his share of longboats. He'll be fine." Still, she'll glance to The Wulrus and say, "Make sure that if he looks as if he may drown you toss something out to him. We don't want his smelly corpse fouling the water supply." The grog is exchanged for coin and handed over to her wounded man.

Eonn throws an oyster shell. Very neatly. To bop off Riker's head.

Among the many ships moored in the harbour, the Braavosi ship known as the Moondancer stands out, with it's purple sails and ornate maidenhead depicting five naked women, each holding a depiction of the moon in a different phase. Amidst the men loading and unloading steps a much more slender figure. Though clad in fashions one might expect of a man — a high-collared brocade vest over a loose purple shirt, and bold red trousers buckled by a leather belt — Rona Vielo is clearly female. At her hip hangs an ornate sword, light and thin in the Braavosi style. She arches a slim eyebrow at the brawling taking place down the pier, smirking in amusement. Yes, this is a port town, alright. With an unmistakable swagger, she makes her way down toward the shellfish seller, palming her coinpurse.

A dab from a pouch in her pocket and a red and green substance clots the blood from the man's mouth with unnatural speed. Turning to the ship the veiled lady with the bright green eyes regards Rona's appearance with a measure of astonishment - a mixture of nostalgia and appreciation. A short list of people forms in her mind trying to identify the warrior woman. But she quickly returns to her task - her eyes also not straying too far from her stall and the urchin. "That should do it my lady," the man seems quite groggy after the treatment however. The veiled woman looks over the edge of the docks for the Ironborn.

Eonn watches Isador, his bright eyes curious, wise. Rona's appearance merely makes him smile, a gentle smile but not really a kind one.

Riker leaves for the harbourfront walk.

"You have my thanks." Maera says to the veiled woman, and she exchanges coin for her man. She puts his arm over her shoulders and lets him lean on her as she notices his steps are mismatched and he seems to be unstable. "We ought to get him home." She'll say to Eonn and The Wulrus.

Keli does studiously watch the shop, though perhaps her method of security is a bit brutish. She hums contently, withdrawing two rusty daggers and stabbing them into an apple she's produced from, er, nowhere. She doesn't try to sell anything, just leers with impish hunger at anyone who comes near enough to tempt her little rat stabbers. Keli must like playing security, her feet dangling off the 0.

The look from Isador doesn't escape Rona's keen awareness, and she offers a curious smirk in return. An unspoken question that can wait as the veiled woman attends to the roughed-up man. Meanwhile, she looks to the shellfish being offered with an appraising eye. "I'll have…three," she says, frowning at the unsatisfactory weight of her purse.

Keli does studiously watch the shop, though perhaps her method of security is a bit brutish. She hums contently, withdrawing two rusty daggers and stabbing them into an apple she's produced from, er, nowhere. She doesn't try to sell anything, just leers with impish hunger at anyone who comes near enough to tempt her little rat stabbers. Keli must like playing security, her feet dangling off the edge of the table with an energetic rhythm. Having successfully scared off customers for the craftswoman to return a bit richer, it appears that aside from the juices of an apple on the display board, the scrawny child has kept all items in her sight safe, and her own pockets looking no fatter.

Eonn tosses aside another oyster shell and steps up to peer into the addled northman's eyes. Then he looks to Isador. To Maera he says, "I should not worry. Let him lean on your Wulrus."

"It is my pleasure," the veiled woman curtsies again to Maera - lowering her bright green eyes. Her accent despite the notable change from third to first person remains very Essosy. "I will not keep you," she says to the departing lady. Disappointingly though she might note it later she does not take note of the Urchin's honesty. Her eyes drift back queriously to the Bravo. Then she makes for her stall almost trying to avoid attention - the poor Ironborn half forgotten.

Maera lifts a brow, "And will you protect me from the insults of Ironborn if I am left just with you, Eonn of the Rills?" The Wulrus moves to take the man's weight from her, and he begins leading his injured companion towards the street proper.

Rona takes her small handful of oysters, sauntering toward Isador's stall. Stopping before the young urchin, she offers one of the shellfish toward Keli. "I bought too much," she says with a distinctive Braavosi accent.

"Of course, my Lady," Eonn replies, drawing back a bit. Maybe he feels a little injured by the question. "I did not think you much wanted me to, just recently. After all, your Wulrus had it well in hand." He opens another oyster with the tip of his dagger and this time offers it, wordlessly, to Rona.

Kelinyx tilts her head upward to the approaching woman, and though one slim, slightly dirty hand slides across the edge of those crossed apple-stabbed blades of grossness, just a moment. "Slitherhoof tries to make me eath them," Keli replies quietly, cupping her hands for the treat as it is. "Thank you very much," the pale-eyed girl says as she shamelessly reviews Rona head to toe, trying to puzzle out that unique attire, but grinning before the oyster is slurped up.

Turning around the veiled woman winks at Kelinyx and might even have managed a smile if her mouth were visible. The bravo closing on her stall makes things somewhat awkward however - but she recovers by reverting to another language, "Greetings," she says in Braavosi, "I have known of very few female bravos in my time in the city - in fact i know of only one partially infamous one?" she leaves the question hanging.

"Perhaps I ought not distract you from what you're doing, Eonn." Maera says in her flat voice. "Do have a lovely time feeding shellfish to the woman bravvos." That said she'll give Kelinyx a little wave before turning on her heel to follow her own men towards the street.

Rona swallows down an oyster, tilting her head as she considers the quality. A shrug seems to indicate it's not bad, at the very least. At the woman's well-spoken Braavosi, she replies in kind in her native tongue. "That is because there are very few female bravos. The boys don't like it when I play their game better than they do." She smirks wryly, giving a proud lift of her chin. "I certainly hope the infamous one is me, or I may be losing my touch."

Eonn sighs, and turns to follow after Maera, taking long strides to catch up to her and speak quietly.

Kelinyx looks up to each of the two women speaking in the alien tongue, her knives set to work carving up that apple, though it appears to be less for consumption and more for demonstration. She holds the knives blades down, stabbing into the core delicately, the ugly blades gliding out easily each time instead of lifting the fruit. There's a refined familiarity with all the cutty stabby in that wily girl's motions, but she doesn't do anything worse, so that must be her version of quietly behaving.

"Rona Vielo," the woman says - with the departure of the nobility and most of her customers she removes her veil to reveal features that are close to as flawless as her eyes - as striking a face as Rona's but much more of a lighter shade contrasted with violently red hair. More than afew drunken sailors turn their eyes in the direction of the gathering. "You would not know me - I am Isador - apprentice to Gascoign for a considerable term. And now I am here - and so are you. But we are being rude… we should revert to this country's language…" She does not consider leaving poor Kelinyx aside to be an exemption to rudeness apparently.

"Rona Vielo?" Rona's eyes lift, and she does, indeed, continue in accented Westerosi. "The Lady Bravo? The daughter of Furio Vielo, the greatest Water Dancer that ever lived? Indeed, she is one to be remembered. I have even heard that she now carries her father's famous blade, Maiden's Kiss." Rona's eyes sparkle with impish delight as she goes on and on about herself.

Kelinyx's eyes narrow with obvious interest as she flicks the awful pig-iron blades free of apple blood, then slips them back into loops crudely sew on her simple pants. "What kind of blade is that?" the little thing butts in, the way a cat will meow in the middle of a human conversation, not especially caring that it is heard so much as making its will known. She does look on, though, quiet beyond that with her curious and slightly cracked grin still in place.

"Hmm yes the famous blade… a Valaryan one actually just left with the noblewoman who left the docks - but who knows if it would have been as well wielded. I heard vague rumors about you winning a duel - that is if I may be so bold as to suggest you are the same as the aforementioned lady?" She could use some points in flattery. "I wonder where that Ironborn went?" She turns back to the urchin, "Impressive - but I think you deserve better."

Kelinyx smirks all cat and canary when Isador says this to her.

Rona gives Isadora a wry grin, then looks to Kelinyx, patting the blade at her hip. "Maiden's Kiss? It is a Braavosi blade. Not just any Braavosi blade, either. Like the noblewoman's sword, it is crafted of Valyrian steel, reforged from the legendary longsword, Heartfire. It is called Maiden's Kiss because it's edge is so fine that its cut feels like the caress of a woman's lips."

For a Braavosi, the florid language of excitement and dynamism may come naturally, but given the scrawny child's age and general demeanor, one might understand how her eyes widen at the blade bragging. Her head slowly tilts and her spine follows, as she listens more intently. "I will do a chore for you if you let me see it," she says quickly, apparently not totally ignorant to the ways of adults and their deals, even if she is, again, not a saleswoman.

"I think the child needs a bravo not a Blood mage for her blades," Isador doesn't bother with secrecy. "And whilst I cannot satisfy our young lady's demands immediately I have something that might remind our lady bravo of home," A small carved colossus from Isador that she hands freely to Rona.

Rona laughs boisterously, her face lighting up with utter adoration for Keli. "What an intelligent child you are. Very well. I will show you…but shall we say that you owe me a favor? Just a small one. I am sure I could use the help of someone as clever as you in the future." The statuette of the Colossus gets an equally broad smile. "You are very kind. I must repay the gift, when I am able. I hope that you will forgive my situation, as I am new here, and I do not yet have means of my own."

"It is known," Kelinyx says of the promises exchanged, her pale visage aimed at Isador as she nods. "You are witness! And so am I. We are all witnesses. But I am a witness who knows where we can eat and they let me drink hard cider." With that Keli hops off the board and looks up to each lady expectantly. "Third Dog Inn, squeezed between the gold and red buildings at the end of that street!" She points off in a direction, giggles as an unspoken race begins, and dashes off. Should the ladies find her, they would be rewarded to a decent meal on Keli.

It is evening and Isador smiles and closes up her stall. "I could use a stiff drink," she says to the back of the departing urchin - "and if I remember from Braavos - bravos are not averse to such - are you the exception my lady? Or er - what am I supposed to call you?"

Rona grins, watching Kelinyx scamper off. "I like that child. I must seek her out again." She picks up the Colossus statue, admiring it more closely. "You are not wrong. A bravo does like to drink, and I am a bravo. How fortunate." She smiles warmly. "You may call me Rona Vielo…or simply Rona. Now, may I have your name?"

"Isador as I said before," says the flame-kissed beauty. "Simply Isador - although I know my father and mother I was a wildling at birth - and we have no lineages past personal remembrance - thus no family names," yes a wildling who wound up in Essos. But almost everyone in town was an eccentric as far as Isador had been able to garner. Perhaps she should not have been so surprised at Rona's appearance. "I hope it is not too painful to speak of Braavos for you? I have been away some three years am eager for some news?"

"Painful to speak of the greatest city in the world?" Rona laughs lightly. "I am glad simply to have the opportunity so soon. I have been afraid that these Westerosi would not be interested. How could they know what they are missing, after all? No, it is not painful. Perhaps you have not heard, then? The courtesan called the Flower of Dawn? She has turned away all of her lovers, and has not emerged from her home in many months. The rumor is that she has somehow been afflicted with greyscale. Some think she has taken her own life. The poor girl."

Isador is saddened by the news, "A city of the greatest lovers in the world. To see one laid so low. Though I can understand it. I had been with many before I left Braavos and when I encountered and lost true love in Westeros it practically killed me. An occupational hazard worse than swords or dark magic - as it invokes the self in order to destroy the self." She sighs. "Come let us speak of happoer things - the city remains free - free for all free peoples I trust?"

Rona nods solemnly. "Of course. First and most beautiful of the Free Cities. But I suppose even Westeros has its marvels." She lifts her eyes to the sights of Oldtown, eyes sliding up the length of the Hightower itself. A lascivious smirk forms on her lips. "One thing that I must give to these Westerosi, their symbolism is rigidly clear. Come, let us find somebody to buy us expensive wine."

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