(121-02-08) Respect and Disgust
Respect and Disgust
Summary: Lord Volmark tries his courtesies upon Lady Mormont. Peri, the salt wife pondering dissolution, witnesses their tense (to say the least) exchange…
Date: Date of play (08/02/2014)
Related: Lord Pansy's Brawls

From one of the larger and more established shipwright's establishments - favoured by the Hightowers themselves for upkeep and repairal of their mercantile fleet - emerges upon the street a client who looks like an old and bad jest, the very model of an Ironman in a temper. Too long and enforced a ponder upon the gold price has left Sylas - Lord Volmark of Volmark - so ruddy with anger as to look almost bruised. Wise smallfolk and even higher burghers trip over themselves to get out of his way, as he strides - horses being for the weak or the direst need - in the direction of the deep salt sea over which his people hold so notorious a sway. A light summer breeze in the blue afternoon accords perfectly ill with his mood, while slightly disarraying his long hair; he runs a half-mail, half-leathern gauntlet through it to tame his mane back into shape with an inchoate snarl at fate in general.

Maera Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, is also afoot today. She walks in the direction Lord Volmark is heading, and is flanked by two Mormont men-at-arms. Despite being a warrior, it is not unusual to see the woman walking about town in a gown of green with black trimmings, such as she does today. Because of her unintimidating dress others avoid her as much as they would any other woman of high birth, with respect instead of fear. But, she doesn't run from the path of the Volmark when the man nears her. Instead, she rolls her eyes slightly and lets out a bit of a scoff.

And so the Volmark's way is blocked. He could show violent and direct discourtesy; he would not be wise to do so, but wisdom does not always deter his folk or himself from their desires. He could give in and crawl about her like the greenlands-serving cur his iron foes at Pyke already whisper him to be. Instead, he takes the middle course and concedes a grudging acknowledgment.

"You are well guarded, this day, my lady. I thought you and your kin preferred to be your own, and each other's, shields. Introduce me to your fine warmen here…unless you fear to betray the secrets of your defences." His voice is loud and bold and not unpleasant, once the brogue of the sea - the taint, as many would put it - is ignored.

Peri is walking about, hair covered by a piece of black cloth. She has a split lip and bruised knuckles, but she has a basket full of perfumes and bath oils as well as a bound journal. A number of them are color coded and each is labled. She seems calm and in a good enough mood. She also looks like she's gone swimming or had a bath recently from what hair is showing.

"Your mistake, my Lord, is you think that coming to my little island to steal a few sheep makes you an expert on it. It would be the same as if I kept trying to inform you about the Iron Isles when the only experience I have is your lot coming to my Island to steal and rape our sheep." Maera shifts her weight from one foot to the other before nodding to her first man, a huge fellow with a rather luxurious mustache and a big axe on his back. "This one we call the Wulrus." Next, she nods to the other, a more plain looking fellow, "And Jon of Bear Island."

The Volmark awards the saltwife a curt and somewhat edged grin, as the dogfish flashes to the whitebait before it plunges, but even this limited degree of amiability no doubt counts as a gallantry from his point of view. For the moment he remains interested - his dark eyes, even, fixated - on his northern noble counterpart…and obstacle. "I claim neither expertise nor sheep, my lady," he insists with a light shrug, "it was kine we butchered that day, I think, though that's beside the point and past and done, now. Your men are good men. Strong men." He nods at them with approval and apparently open-hearted friendliness. "Begotten on good women, by strong fathers, I should say. All the proof, if it were wanting, that my folk come to your isle for fiercer, and fairer, game than wool."

Peri moves towards the Volmark, without much warning taking out a green wrapped item, holding it up to Sylas "A gift, young Leviathan." she smiles, with a sharp toothy smile. Well groomed as always. The item is ironman food - a boiled grain with minced fish and prawns with some spices mixxed in. She eyes Maera "Would you care for some Lady Mormont?" she asks, leathers complaining as she adjusts her stance.

Maera says, "It is easy to butcher men when you wait until they are getting off their boats from a day's work fishing, and they are unarmed. As your kind often does." Maera surveys the man in front of her coldly for a moment before she looks back to Peri, "No, thank you." A pause, "I hope you made up with Blacktyde?"

She looks back at Sylas, "This is the second time you have mentioned rape and my ancestors. When I was a maid of four and ten one of your sorts tried putting his cock in me. I put my sword in his belly instead. I suppose he wasn't expecting me to penetrate him.""

And Volmark laughs, though it is not by any means a warmthful noise, as he takes in the composition of these women, one lean and hard, the other lank and generous, one offering him sustenance, the other in all but, as yet, deed, a blade in the belly. He takes the saltwife's offering readily and without thanks, save in an ironical swagger of an inclined waist. Then he bites hard and with relish, and chews ruminatively, his black eyes never leaving Lady Mormont, before he replies.

"You call us a kind, not a folk, though it is you who are said to run with beasts of field and forest. No matter. In a sense you show us the respect our cunning has reft from you by rights; and I'm glad to hear you have attended my words so closely. As for my late…countryman…sounds like you gave him a good death. Perhaps," he grins more insolently than ever, "he enjoyed it. I hope so. The Drowned God is bleak, and every joy, every battle, is to be sucked dry in recompense, drained to the dregs of the horn, ere we be refreshed ever after in watery halls. As this saltwife here," he adds with surprising deference to Peri, "more than once drowned herself, might avouch…"

Peri considers the question "Not entirely, but it is going cordially at this rate. He is taking the suggestion that it is time to get a younger salt wife with grace. I am getting too old for him anyways - he can do much better than me." she lies towards the end. she pauses "I never wanted to be so uh gallantly rescued and infact greatly protested any notion it was necessary." she's trying to be nice about it. "I'm not sure we will end up where we had been, but, we are in the right direction I should think." she eyes Sylas "I'm not entirely sure I had much say in the matter." she watches Sylas for a moment "the Ironmen are the Dothraki of the water. If you two teamed up you'd destroy us all and bring a doom thrice as violent as Valyria's." she mutters.

"A younger salt wife?" Maera scowls at this. "You mean some poor girl kidnapped and taken from all she knows so she can be forced to please him? Do you really wish that on someone else?" Her scowl only deepens at Sylas' words. "Respect? You and your kind are thieves. You steal from hardworking people, and mindlessly slaughter. I do not respect you. I think you and your Drowned God are disgusting."

"There is a sort of respect, my lady, that is not paid with words, but deeds," Sylas replies with unexpected smoothness, and then he turns, his expression quite transformed from his previous slightly condescending gratitude, upon Peri. "You purpose to leave Blacktyde? That is not how the brides of the sea should part from their men. From the sea such wives come," and he spits in the direction of the ocean, an arc of fine, strangely reverent spit, "and thence they should return, slit or besacked. Blacktyde is a bold captain, if dull of wit. Stay by him, or pay the price." He doesn't, it seems, need to specify what kind of price, before he goes on, pointedly, to her ladyship.

"Lady Mormont, I know you savour my company but little, but I go to man a ship engaged in fighting the kin of mine you so loathe. I'd be grateful," he bows sardonically, "nay, honoured, if you let me pass. Mayhaps we'll all go to the God together, and you can congratulate yourself on wreaking our mutual ruin. Mayhaps not."

Peri eyes Maera and replies without sarcasm or hate in her tone "I've been ripped from everything I've known.." she thinks, counting on her fingers, "Seven times. The iron men was the gentlest and most welcome transition. My opinion is softer of the ironmen than yours, and I do respect that, Lady Mormont." she adjusts her trousers lightly. "Riker has treated me with kindness a majority of our time together and I am grateful for that. Other ironmen would likely have left my chains on and not indulged my anger for the slavers who whipped me." she does not mention that she likely has used proper iron currency for things. "If I intended to leave him or had properly left him, Volmark, You'd of never seen me in a port." she replies. Her expression is annoyed with Sylas but no rude words come forth. "I have a reason to stay behind this time in port, and attend my own ambitions. Blacktyde supports at least one of my ambitions." she leans to whisper to Sylas once, likely just for privacy.

Peri whispers: The Tyrells have mucked our trust of each other up, I need time to get all of that bullshit out of my head, he has forgiven me for the incidents and rumors, and hopefully in time I will be able to give him a strong and fierce son. He would prefer not to lose a child during a reaving expedition as he has no rock wife to fall back on for children.

Maera takes a step to the side, and motions broadly towards the direction Sylas means to go, "By all means, go. Have a lovely time killing those you so greatly praise." She laughs lightly, "By the Old Gods, I've never met a bigger hypocrite. Tell me about respect when you've come to my island to claim the bones of your dead, as it seems we cannot take a step without walking over your ancestors, Volmark."

She looks to Peri, and shakes her head. "Other women are not you. Hardship is relative. Do not think that just because you made peace with it that another woman will do the same."

As for Sylas, he merely gives a deep, and sober, nod, and stalks past; …until he pauses, and turns, his voice quieter and cooler. "Have a care when you speak of hypocrites to an exile, my lady, lest you come to regret it some day. Unlike you, I am willing to admit when I admire a worthy foe. But nor have I forgotten your precious Rodrik Stark, who stole Bear Island from my folk's rule by a brawler's low trick. One day you may taste the bitterness of exile, my lady, permanent and besetting, not the jaunt of a merry damsel to warmer climes. I shall grieve for you then, my lady, and not name you with insults." His piece done, he turns his heel again, his hair by now utterly tangled and wild, but apparently forgotten among larger concerns; and he strides down to the grey sea he still can call home.

Peri smiles to Maera "I suppose so, but, I am getting rather old to be lugged around the boat, and I'll end up dumb as a door knob if I continue bashing my head on wooden bits of the ship. I do not recommend door jam to the forehead by the way, Lady Mormont." she considers, taking a small vial of perfumed oil out to offer to Maera "Do you like how this smells?" she asks, curiously.

"I'm going to bust that one's teeth out." Maera announces as Sylas stalks down the street. She lets Peri's words run over her, and makes no comment.

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